JANUARY 6
ONE MONTH IN NEW YORK
I push through my apartment door, laughing. Ben walks in after me. "I can't believe that actually just happened." He shuts the door behind us.
"You're the one who wanted to go out with the people from work," I point out. I check my phone to see a missed call from Clay. My finger hovers over the notification, ready to delete it, but choose to leave it there for now.
I slide out of my jacket. It's a puffer jacket George gave me when I went back for Christmas. He said that it deserved to see some actually cold weather; I wear it all the time now.
"I did," Ben agrees, taking off his own jacket, "and now I don't know how I'll ever go to a meeting without envisioning Griffin pouring beer down his bare chest."
I shudder. "It's burned into my eye lids."
Ben lays his jacket on the back of my dining room chairs. I found them for ten dollars each at a thrift shop down the road; I got Ben to help me carry them back to my apartment before someone else bought them.
"I'm going to change," I say before going to my bedroom in the back of the small apartment.
I open my bottom drawer of clothes, realizing from the lack of clothes that it's been a while since I've done laundry. I go past my white, mustard-stained sweatshirt, and my hand hits a sweatshirt I haven't worn since my first day of New York.
I pull it out from the bottom and run my fingers across the green smile. I meant to give this back to Clay, but I had forgotten it when I went to Florida in December. Now it's just sitting at the bottom of my drawer.
I glance at my other option and decide the Dream sweatshirt will have to do.
My mind flashes to the missed phone call earlier, and I grab my phone. I actually have had three missed phone calls since the last time we spoke. I haven't called him back for any of them yet.
I know I should, and I tell myself every time he calls that I will call back later. I just never seem to get to it, and now that it's been a couple weeks, it feels like it's been too long.
"y/n, don't be mad," Ben says loudly from somewhere in the apartment, "but I watched an episode without you."
I drop my phone in my lap, and my jaw drops. "You did not," I yell back.
"Sorry?" He words it more like a question, meaning he does not regret his actions.
"Ben Thatcher!" I'm half-laughing now as I practically run to the couch, tackling him for the remote.
He holds the remote out of my reach. "I had to do it; you fell asleep on a cliffhanger, y/n. A cliffhanger."
"Well, now I'm about to throw you off a cliff." I reach across him for the remote. "You're rewatching that episode with me."
And just like that, the call is forgotten just as quickly as it went to voicemail...
JANUARY 18
I pull my coat around me even more, wishing I had something to cover my face. I walk past people rushing off to somewhere else in the city; everyone's noses and cheeks have a tint of pink from the weather. The cold air burns my eyes, and tears begin to form in the corners as I walk.
The doors leading into my building provide no insulation, and it's almost colder in here. I veer to the right for a moment to check my little mailbox. I always mean to grab my mail after work, but I never end up doing it.
I pull out a bundle of letters. I shift through them as I walk upstairs to my door. I throw the junk mail into the bin immediately. I sit at my dining room table, and my brows furrow at one envelope in particular.
My fingers graze the familiar scribbles; the way the letters in my name are spelled. The return address confirms my suspicions, but it only makes me more curious.
Why did Clay send me a letter?
I sigh, setting it, along with all my other mail, to the side for later. For now, I have paperwork to do for work.
_ _ _
I stayed up late last night, and in result I am struggling to get out the door on time. I grab the stack of papers I need for my meeting today and shove them into my bag. I grab the travel mug of coffee from my mediocre-coffee maker before I head out the door.
I got to work before Magnolia, which I seem to think is an accomplishment every day. She has the tendency to never be late, but to be just on time.
I settle into my seat and pull out the paperwork. Usually I don't have to bring actual paper, but last night I had to fill out an overview for the website along with a mock-up powerpoint. I happily made it for Magnolia as long as I didn't have to present.
An envelope falls out of the bag as I pull out my things. I sigh, picking it up off the ground.
The handwriting alone makes my stomach tie into knots, and I decide that I can't ignore this one. I open the letter.
y/n,
I'm just going to start off by saying that I don't actually know how to write a letter. I had a pen pal in third grade, but it was only because we had to for class. I'm pretty sure we only ever talked about football and recess.
I tried to call you a couple times, but then I realized this was a conversation to be had in person. I actually almost bought a plane ticket to New York, but then I realized that I wouldn't even know how to find you once I got there.
So I went to the person who I probably shouldn't have trusted: Nick. He told me a letter would be the way to go because I wasn't allowed to see your new apartment before him. It was seriously ridiculous, but then I followed it so who knows.
I bought some paper because none of had any for some reason (Isn't that an adult thing I should have?) and now I'm writing you a letter.
I probably should've led with this, but I wanted to apologize, y/n.
I led you on for much longer than I should've, and I never should've done that to you nor my relationship at the time. I messed up, and I want you to know that I am owning up to it now.
I don't expect us to go back to normal. I don't even really expect you to answer this letter actually. I just wanted to clear the air and say my peace.
Soooo yeah, that's my letter. Again, I'm really sorry for everything that happened between us.
-Clay
I swallow once, scanning the words once again. I turn in my swivel chair, and my eyes search for something before I'm even fully aware.
I grab the first paper I see and the pen right next to me. I'm trying to think what in the world I could say back to him when I realize there's already typed words on my paper. I remember my mock Start-Up sight, and I sigh, setting the letter Clay wrote to the side.
I'll have to save this for later; maybe I'll have all the right words to say to him then.
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
apology maybe accepted?
have an amazing day!