30. Yellow Envelopes

Yellow Envelopes

Once Hadley carried the large boxes into her bedroom, turned the oven on to preheat, and set a frozen chicken pot pie on the counter, she carried the shoebox over to the couch and took a seat. She slowly lifted the lid and started to go through the contents. She stacked the People, Good Housekeeping, and Tiger Beat magazines into a pile, knowing they'd make good reading material for the office, even if they were outdated. She then set aside two Sears catalogs for the trash before pulling out the pile of mail. She counted three white envelopes and thirteen canary yellow envelopes. She started with the white envelopes, opening them one at a time.

The first one was a graduation card from her grandparents, on her mom's side, who she hadn't seen or heard from since her mom's funeral. Her father told her several times growing up that they lived on the west coast because they wanted nothing to do with them. With her. Hadley felt embarrassed to have believed him, but it made sense at the time. When she was fourteen, she would daydream about sneaking onto a plane and showing up at their home in San Diego. She wondered what it would be like if they took her in and showed her the same love that their daughter, her mom, had shown her. She always dreamed her life with them would be a better one, but, after her dad's constant reminders that they didn't want to be a part of her life, she stopped having those thoughts. Seeing this somewhat generic graduation card made her smile. Her nonna had the same swoopy cursive as her mom.

The next card she opened was from her mom's best friend, Jeanine. It was meant for her twenty-first birthday and had a 20-dollar bill and a one-dollar bill inside. She read the endearing note about how she hoped everything was going well and that she was sorry to have fallen out of touch. She wrote that she hoped Hadley's wishes were coming true and that she was able to live a fulfilling young adult life. I'm trying.

The third card was also a twenty-first birthday card, again from her California-based grandparents. There was no written message beyond With love, Grandpa and Nonna. Hadley set the three cards aside, grateful for the 21 dollars to add into her empty wallet. She pulled forward the stack of lemon envelopes right as the oven buzzer sounded. Hadley released a breath she didn't realize she was holding and stood up. She carried the empty white envelopes and Sears catalogs to the trash before she slid the frozen pot pie onto a baking sheet and into the oven. She set the timer for 32 minutes and proceeded to spend the first six of them pacing the room as she stared at the yellow envelopes that seemed to stare right back.

Once curiosity beat out anxiety, she sat on the couch and picked up the first card in the stack. She slowly read through card after card. It turned out ever since Hadley stopped visiting the farm, Dorothy started mailing her a card each year for her birthday and for Christmas. Each card had a kind message, an update on the horses, the farm, or on life in general, and a reminder to Hadley that she was always welcomed and to keep in touch. None of the cards ever felt mean or hateful and none of the cards made it seem like Dorothy felt let down. The last few cards in the stack were missing the hand-written updates on the horses and life, but still had a warm reminder to keep in touch.

Hadley fanned the Hallmark cards in front of her like a winning poker hand and stared, completely blown away. She wondered what Dorothy thought of her, for having never responded. Was it too late to reach out now? She sat and stared until the oven timer made her jump.

She walked over to the kitchen and when she pulled out the pot pie, she instantly wished for the smell of Dorothy's blueberry lemon muffins instead of the celery and savory gravy that billowed out from the oven. She frowned at her dinner but grabbed a plate from the upper cabinet along with a fork from the drawer anyway.After she filled a glass with water, she carefully balanced it all in her hands as she walked to the couch.

While she ate, she started to think about what she would say to Dorothy and how. She considered driving to the farm over the weekend, but then thought it would be too bold to just show up after seven years. She thought maybe she'd start with a phone call, but after she glanced back through the cards, she realized Dorothy never left her phone number. She could call the operator and ask for the Wellington Farm residence, but then worried that if Dorothy wanted her to have her phone number, she would've given it. She finally settled on the idea that she would write back to Dorothy. She had the address and clearly it was a form of communication with which Dorothy felt comfortable.

She closed her eyes as she chewed and thought about what she would write. She would definitely start with an apology paired with an explanation that she just now got the box of mail from her dad, who for some reason withheld her mail for years. She'd tell Dorothy how much she missed her baking and their conversations, how she just started a new job, and all about her new apartment. As she took her last bite of dinner, she looked over at the horseshoe tacked above her front door. Snow White. She'd definitely ask about Snow White.

She didn't have any stationary to start tonight, but decided she could use a piece of paper and an envelope from her desk tomorrow. Anxious to finally reach out, Hadley cleaned up dinner, wiped down the counters, fluffed her couch pillows – a neurotic habit after years of trying to please her father, and grabbed a book to read in bed until she grew tired enough to sleep.

It wasn't until she walked into her bedroom that she remembered the other boxes. Tomorrow she would write a letter to Dorothy explaining how she regretted not visiting or staying in touch. Tonight, however, she couldn't wait to dig into the box that held her mom's stunning dress collection.