The Christmas Pact(26)

Dear Soraya,

I wrote to you a few weeks ago about my mother’s Christmas letter. Remember me? You called me boring and inadvertently sent your advice to a coworker who has the same first and last name, only in reverse. Well, I guess I should start out by apologizing. I was pretty upset when I got your letter. You basically told me to get a life and sent the response to an annoying coworker, who happily forwarded it to me…along with his own two cents. Anyway, I was upset and wrote you back a pretty harsh letter. And for that, I’m sorry.

While your advice was tough to hear, over the last week I realized you were right. I guess perhaps it took a few days of actually having a life to make me realize that I hadn’t been living. Which brings me to why I’m writing today. The annoying guy you sent my letter to? Well, he wound up being not so annoying. In fact, it turns out he’s pretty incredible. We spent a few amazing days together, and things were going great. Until they weren’t. And now I’m not sure how to handle it.

I really like him and want to explore what we seemed to have. At times, I was sure he felt the same way. But then, just when things started to progress, he pulled away. You see, someone hurt him pretty badly. So my conundrum is, I’m not sure if he’s just afraid of getting his heart broken again, or if maybe he actually didn’t like me the way I thought he did.

I’ll tell you a little secret, Soraya…I’m a little old-fashioned. I guess, deep down, I still expect Prince Charming to ride up on his white horse and whisk me away like some dumb damsel in distress. Which is probably why I’m a little afraid to go after the first man to make my heart go pitter patter in years. So I need you to tell me the truth here…should I take a chance and ask him out, or do I move on because he’s really just not that into me after all?



Signed,

Don’t want to be Boring Anymore





Kennedy



Trying to keep my focus on work lately was a bitch. This manuscript wasn’t going to edit itself. Yet as much as I tried, I couldn’t stop thinking about Riley—the way she whimpered into my mouth when we kissed, the way her skin felt when I was massaging her back. How happy she seemed when she looked up at me from that chair in the middle of the dance floor—the moment right before I freaked out. It was like the Happy Police came and hijacked my brain. Our time together had been amazing before that. And now, the more I tried to block thoughts of Riley from my mind, the more I thought about her. It was messed up.

“Riley!”

My stomach dropped because I thought someone was calling her name. But it was my co-worker, Alexander, approaching my office.

Every time someone would refer to me by my last name, it was jarring. My head would turn toward the sound because I’d convince myself that she had walked into the room. It wasn’t totally out of the realm of possibility, given that we worked for different arms of the same company.

Swiveling my chair around, I said, “What’s up?” The adrenaline was still pumping through me from hearing that name.

“We’re heading out to lunch. Wanna come with?”

“Nah. I’m just gonna eat at my desk. Thanks.”

Translation: I don’t feel like talking to anyone and would rather sit here and lament over the fact that I’d acted like a coward and driven away the best thing that had ever happened to me.

“You alright? You seem a little out of it.”

“I’m fine,” I snapped.

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Catch you later, man.”

When he walked away, I tapped my pen in frustration as I continued to ruminate over whether I’d done the right thing in pushing her away. I seriously felt like I’d done her a favor. That didn’t stop me from missing her. Or from wanting to contact her, which would’ve been a selfish decision considering how terrible I am at relationships. Riley was the kind of girl you didn’t just mess around with. Still, not one day went by when I didn’t have to stop myself from texting her to ask how she was doing. But each time I pulled up her contact info, I’d nix the idea, telling myself that keeping things the way they were was for the best.

Later that afternoon, I was just about to shut down for the day when I saw an email pop up into my inbox. I recognized the name. It was that advice person that Riley used to email. Crap. What the heck? She was still writing in to that column? That had to mean she was upset or sad about something. But more than that, why the hell were they still sending the responses to the wrong address? Great. I’d be forced to have to interact with her in order to forward the message. Or maybe this time I’d just tell them—not so nicely—that they sent it to the wrong person again and let them do it.

So I ignored it for a while, through two cups of coffee, a conference call, and three chapters of a manuscript I’d been editing.

Finally, I pushed back from my desk and tugged at my hair with both hands. Fuck this. Curiosity got the best of me and, yeah, I clicked on the email. I soon learned that the intended recipient wasn’t Riley at all—it was me.



Dear Fool,



First off, let me preface this by saying that my ass would be on the line if Ida knew about this breach of confidentiality. But seeing as you’re the entire reason for my having to write this email response in the first place, you already know what this is about—what you did. Or what you didn’t do. Take your pick. My point is, none of this will be news to you.