Happily Letter After(5)
CHAPTER 3
SADIE
Some days I worked in the office, and other days my assignments took me out. For my upcoming online dating feature, titled Best Out of Ten, I scheduled two dates a day for five consecutive days. To minimize the variables involved, I met all ten men at the same exact restaurant, even sitting at the same exact table. The idea of the piece was to determine whether quantity amounted to quality—whether you could find at least one good apple out of ten online prospects.
The answer for me, unfortunately, was no. Not a single one of my ten dates was someone I could see myself meeting again. One of the guys let me foot the entire bill after I offered to pay my half. Never even took out his card. When I asked if he wanted to split it, he informed me that “funds are tight at the moment.” Another guy asked me if I minded letting him smell the inside of my shoe. Apparently, he had a foot fetish. The other eight were no better, each one displaying some characteristic that was a hard no for me.
So at the end of this particular week, I was more exhausted than usual when I stopped into the grocery store at the corner of my street. Days like this, I wished Cairo stocked alcohol in here, because I was too tired to make a separate stop at a liquor store tonight.
Perusing the aisles, I grabbed a bag of cheese puffs, Devil Dogs, a large bottle of Coke Zero, some Sour Patch Kids, and a frozen pepperoni pizza. It was going to be that kind of night.
When I got to the register, Cairo’s eyes widened at the sight of my junk-food extravaganza.
As he rang up my stuff, he started to smirk like he always did while his mind was cooking up a new joke.
“Whaddya got for me tonight, Cairo?”
He came out with it. “What did the horny pizza say to the pepperoni?”
“What?”
“I like you on top.” He laughed.
“Ah. Nice.” Not sure if it was my mood today, but I found that one more annoying than amusing.
“You staying in tonight?” he asked. “No hot date?”
“I’ve had ten hot dates this week, if you can believe it, except they were more like hot messes. I’ve never been happier to spend a Friday night alone in my life.” I ran my credit card through his machine and smiled. “Have a good weekend, Cairo.”
As I carried my handle-less paper bag out of the grocery store, my text notification chimed. I reached into my purse and took out my phone as a breeze blew my skirt up, nearly exposing me to people passing by.
Devin: You never came back to the office after your assignment today, so I picked up your mail. You got another letter from that little girl, Birdie. I took it home with me if you want me to drop it by.
Shit. Did I want to get into that tonight? I knew it would make me emotional. I was better off just escaping into some Netflix and calling it a night. Yet, even though I knew what was best for me, I typed the opposite.
Sadie: Yeah. That would be great. I bought some junk food if you’re down. Bring a bottle of wine.
Later that evening, Devin and I had finished off the pizza, half of the other snacks, a bottle of wine, and three episodes of Stranger Things before I decided to open the letter.
Dear Santa,
Thank you for sending the braid. I wasn’t expecting to get anything else. I don’t want you to think I told you about wanting a braid on the top of my head so you would send me one. I didn’t even know they made braid headbands! It’s so cool! You can’t even tell it’s not my hair!
The first time I wrote to you, I only wanted to know that you’re real. And you are. That’s why I asked for olives. (But I did want socks for Dad.) The braid made me really happy. My dad saw me wearing it and asked me where it came from. I told him I got it from a friend. It’s not really a lie. He seemed happy he didn’t have to learn how to braid my hair anymore.
I saw Dad talking to a lady the other night. It was weird. I was hungry, so I got out of bed to steal cookies, and he was on the couch, and there was a woman talking to him through the computer. I ran back to my room, because it scared me a little. I don’t know why. He didn’t see me. I know I was supposed to be in bed, but I wanted Oreos. I had them for breakfast instead.
Anyway, I’m not gonna ask you for anything anymore. Not until Christmas.
But I want to know if you can tell me something. Since the North Pole is pretty high up there, can you see heaven from where you are? Can you tell me if my mom is okay? Can she see me? I talk to her all the time, but I don’t know if she can hear me or see me. I asked her to send me a sign, but maybe she can’t do what I asked for. Like, if I ask her to send me a butterfly or a bird, they are everywhere, and how do I really know it’s her? My mom used to ride horses before she got sick. She rode this really pretty girl horse named Windy—because she ran like the wind. She was all black and had long blonde hair on her head and tail. Maybe I could ask her to show me a black horse running like the wind? That would be a way for me to know for sure Mom was okay. Can you see if you can get that message to her?
Thanks again, Santa.
Love you lots!
Birdie
P.S. I didn’t give you my mom’s name! It’s Amanda Maxwell, and she has long brown hair (before she lost it, but she probably has it again), and she smells like the perfume Angel.
The wine I’d consumed wasn’t beginning to help me process this one in the least. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry this time. So I was just—in shock.