Nate
“There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind.”
—C. S. Lewis
That night I popped popcorn, started a fire in my fireplace, and watched Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Twice. Nate was right. Audrey Hepburn was adorable. Considering the circumstances, she did a great job of cheering me up. Baxter seemed to enjoy it too. He raised his tail three times.
I unlocked the front door of Forget-Me-Not with not nearly as much pep in my step or warmth in my heart as yesterday. No phone call from Rachel. No e-mail either. I hadn’t heard from William. I had no idea if he’d proposed and, if so, what happened. Or how to handle the fact that I’d caught his possible fiancée with another man. And whether I was ready for it or not, I would see him tonight, at Crystal and Candace’s surprise thirtieth birthday party.
If only pictures could talk. I could have a conversation with my mother right then and there. She’d know what to do. Sighing, I set my coffee and Wally’s muffin on the counter and pressed the blinking light on the store’s answering machine, expecting an after-hours order from a customer.
“Hey, Amelia, it’s . . . well, it’s Nate.”
I pulled my chin back. Nate, as in Nate Gallagher? The guy who liked Audrey Hepburn and refused to give me his insurance information?
“I just got your e-mail. I’d call you on your home phone or your cell phone, but all I have is this number on the flowery business card you gave me. To answer your questions, yes. I do have reception. I know Yooperland must feel very north to you Wisconsinites, but we do get cell phone service in the Upper Peninsula and I do own a phone.” His tone was friendly, teasing. His voice, deeper and smoother than I remembered. “I’m not sure if the e-mail was meant for me or not, but I must admit, I’m highly intrigued. Is everything okay? If you want to call me, my number is 906-224-0505. I’ll be around.”
The answering machine beeped.
I blinked several times, confusion scrunching inside my head. Cell phone reception? My e-mail? But I never e-mailed him last . . .
Oh no.
I pulled out my cell phone from my purse and opened up my e-mail app. I tapped on the Sent folder and waited for the e-mails to load. A couple seconds later, there it was. SOS, RESPONSE NEEDED ASAP. Only, instead of sending it to [email protected], I’d somehow sent it to [email protected]. The g-a-l must have brought up his e-mail address instead of Rachel’s, and I’d been so panicked about the entire incident that I didn’t notice the blunder.
I buried my face in my hands and let out a loud groan. First, I hit him with my car and fled the scene like a crazy woman. Then I sent him a cryptic, slightly hysterical e-mail to call me as soon as possible, in the middle of the night if necessary. He probably thought there was something wrong with me. Like maybe I’d been dropped as a baby a time or two. Seriously.
Shaking my head, I hit Compose and tried to explain.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Tue, Sep 15, 2015 8:32 a.m.
Subject: so very sorry for the mix-up
Dear Nate,
Once again, I am incredibly embarrassed and horribly sorry. In my previous e-mail to you, I promised that I wasn’t typically so scattered and frantic, and yet I’m not doing a very good job of convincing you of that, am I?
The e-mail you received yesterday was sent by mistake. It was meant for my best friend, Rachel Galvison, whose e-mail address (unfortunately for you) starts with the same three letters as yours. You might be wondering why I didn’t just call or text Rachel if it was such an emergency. The answer to that is simple. Last month Rachel moved to Fiji. It sounds pretty spectacular, but it’s not really. She joined the Peace Corps and is working in some remote village, teaching children English while she learns crazy-sounding languages like Chuukese and Kosraean. Last we e-mailed, she didn’t have a phone.
I was a bit (that’s a lie—I was a lot) panicked about something and needed her advice, so I sent the rushed e-mail off without double-checking who I sent it to. I’m really very sorry for bothering you.
I’m afraid you are getting the wrong impression. I’m not prone to drama. My life is actually pretty mellow. That’s what I call it, anyway. Rachel likes to say “boring.” I am very sorry, and I promise not to let the mistake happen again.
Mea culpa,
Amelia
PS: This e-mail has officially taken me thirty minutes to type out, as I’m sending it from my iPhone. I strongly dislike sending e-mails from my iPhone for this very reason. Most days I want my flip phone back.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Tue, Sep 15, 2015 8:41 a.m.
Subject: I’m the world’s biggest basket case
Rachel,