“Beth, seriously?” I skipped back into my cubicle and opened a fresh Word document on my computer.
I titled it “Whispers in the Dark.” I wrote two, then three, then six, then nine thousand words before shutting down and going home. The next day, I repeated the same thing. There was a story forming, purely fictional, but one that echoed so many themes in my life at that moment. I was getting work done at the paper, but between completing short tasks I would go back to the story, and the words would flow right out of me. On the third day, I had written roughly five chapters. I e-mailed them to Beth without telling her anything.
She came over to my desk, clutching the printed pages. “What is this?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s fucking awesome. It’s fiction?” she asked.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You have to keep going.”
“I don’t know what I’ll do with it.”
Beth crossed her arms over her chest. “You’re writing a goddamned book, Kate. Keep going and figure that out later.”
What I wrote was dark and unsettling at times, but that’s how my life had been. The only brightness and warmth I could remember was being in Napa. My memories of the beautiful connection Jamie and I had shared started coming back to me, coursing through my veins like a rushing river. I would daydream about his lips on my neck, so tender and warm, and his strong hands on my waist, making me feel safe. The story was about the pain we sometimes have to endure before the universe rewards us with real love. Through the writing, I was able to let go of the idea that I should be alone. I purged all of the feelings and preconceived notions I’d had going into my adulthood. The characters from the story and the memories of my time with Jamie brought me back into the light. They showed me that love was real and burning inside of me, and that no matter how hard I tried, I wouldn’t be able to stifle it.
I avoided Jerry, but I had a feeling he knew what was going on, and I knew that I would be faced with some serious decisions. The Crier wasn’t going to pay me to write love stories, and the idea of writing one more article on the dangers of trans fats made me want to stick pencils in my eyes. On the fifth night, I woke from the fog of writing and realized Jamie hadn’t left me a voice mail in two days. I scurried from my apartment and headed for the mail slots on the first floor.
When the elevator doors opened, Dylan and Ashley came into view. He was standing tall with a self-satisfied smirk on his face. Ashley was pink all the way from her cheeks to her neck and down toward the low cut of her shirt. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. They had done it, was my guess—maybe on the roof, maybe in the doorless laundry room—but I was sure, with every ounce of my being, that they had done it.
“Hey, kids,” I said with an ear-splitting grin.
“What’s up, chica?”
“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?” I asked.
“Yes,” Ashley said so softly I barely heard her.
Dylan gave an awkward, nasal laugh and then cleared his throat. “Where are you headed to?”
“Getting my mail.”
When we reached Ashley’s floor, Dylan turned toward me. “I’m gonna walk her to her door. Hold the elevator and I’ll come with you.”
I held the open-door button and watched as Dylan and Ashley walked hand in hand down the hall. He whispered something in her ear and she smiled with a peaceful and content look on her face. They kissed tenderly for just a few seconds and then he kissed her forehead before she turned and entered her apartment. So sweet.
He ran back toward the elevator, grinning the entire way.
“Well?” I said.
“I’m so fucking in love with her.” He sighed.
“Do you really think it’s love?”
He looked over at me pointedly. “Oh no, you’re not gonna start your cynical shit with me now, are you?”
“No, Dylan, it’s just that sometimes it can be hard to tell the difference between love and lust.”
“I don’t care what the difference is. All I know is that I can’t stop thinking about her. I want to be with her every second of the day. Not just in that way, either. I want to talk to her and laugh with her and see the world with her. If that’s not love, then I don’t fucking know anything.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“I have to be. I know she’s amazing and she likes me. I don’t think there’s any room for fear or doubt when it comes to love. I’m willing to take my chances. You should be, too,” he said just as we reached the mail slots.
When I stuck the key in and turned the little lock, the door practically jumped off the hinges. The slot was jammed full of mail. Most of it was junk mail that I managed to catch as it came spilling out. One envelope fell to the floor. Dylan and I looked down simultaneously. The return address was the R. J. Lawson Winery. It was Jamie’s answer.
“Is that the guy?”
“Yes.”
“Are you gonna open it?”