Page 29 of Love Letters to Christmas

Character growing…like a chia pet…please wait.

Amelia

My precious girl .

Brian called me his precious girl. I don’t know how to handle that information. I don’t know how to implement what he told me. He’s not wrong, at all. I know that.

I have double standards.

I expect things of myself that I don’t expect of others.

Worse, if Brian behaved toward my acts of service the way I’ve been behaving toward his, I’d be hurt .

If he took one look at the muffins I’d been making us for breakfast and winced and made it seem like a burden on him that I was asking him to accept them…

Ugh.

I need to do better. Get out of my head. Give myself the same courtesy that I give to others.

Because the more I think about it, the more I realize that I am the only thing standing in my own way.

No one is making demands of me anymore. No one is saying that my best isn’t good enough.

No one is getting angry over nothing. Ever since I moved and started working in the mailroom, I have been given tasks that I have accomplished without further instruction or complaint.

My cleaning hasn’t been nitpicked. The only thing I’ve made that Brian didn’t like was those vegan raisin bran muffins.

I am appreciated here.

And if I spend all my time waiting for something to change, I’m never going to be able to appreciate being here.

I cannot keep living my life waiting for people to start acting like my parents. I cannot allow my upbringing to dictate my future.

Sitting in my car outside the post office, I run my finger over the wax seal on my new letter from Brian. I rambled a lot in my last letter, dumped a ton of nonsense onto the stationery. I’m a little scared to see how he responded.

At the very least, he should absolutely understand that I’m serious after he’s read nothing short of a breakdown.

Taking a deep breath, I carefully open the envelope.

My dearest Admirer,

This seal is beautiful. I adore it. It’s perfect. You are the remarkable one. I would utterly perish the thought of your feelings not being serious, as I am sure you know mine are.

Sadly, I’m not sure if my answer to how you will know when you’ve changed will be very helpful at this point, but I’ll give it anyway.

You will know one day, when you wake up and you realize that the voice in your head is naturally kinder.

Small realizations will come along the way, and I encourage you to dwell on them, the differences, the meaningful moments that might hurt to look at since they’ve not always been your reality.

They might make your past feel like lost time, but nothing that has created the you of this moment is truly lost, because who you are in this moment is someone beautiful and worthy.

I can guarantee right now that you do not suck at all; you’re just dealing with sucky thoughts that are attempting to define you.

Please don’t let them.

People are self-centered. I’m afraid that’s life. We are the only vessels we have to look through, so the world is twisted to the shapes of our eyes.

Thinking of others is a muscle I’m sure you have been forced to stretch. Force is a dreadful way of building character. You are good enough. You are not a waste of space. You are capable and strong and worthy of far less bitterness than you have been given.

I, too, with every correspondence find myself somewhat more taken by you, which is troubling given that you appear to have a flawed perception of me.

Allow me a moment to open your eyes to my own nature.

I am not so wonderful. I am somewhat human. I scheme quite constantly.

My own wants motivate me toward questionable action, and I don’t repent whenever I find that my wants contradict someone else’s. I mess with people more than I should. I derive an odd enjoyment from seeing how people behave.

I love people, but that doesn’t mean I always have their best interests in mind—and certainly not when I decide that a less-than-best interest might be more fun.

Like you, I crave attention. Unlike you, I am not considerate enough to wait, starving, while the potential for validation passes me by. I ask for it. Loudly. Usually while pouting. Which, yes, is very mature of me, thank you for asking.

Everyone has their inner darkness. Almost everyone prefers to present a more angelic front. But the truth is usually less glistening once you really come to know someone.

Logic will ever battle emotion. Emotion will ever distort reality.

We shall ever watch the sparks fly.

I hope that one day you might allow me the honor of teaching you what love feels like.

Until then, you may know that I adore the gift of time.

Being with someone who spends their time with me or for me means a lot.

It’s another reason why mail matters so much.

Someone had to sit down and spend time creating something for me.

They put their time into a package and sent it my way to treasure.

In conjunction with my revelation of selfishness and my desire to be shown love, I have a terrible question for you.

Might I steal your time on July 25th?

There’s a Christmas in July party at Whirlwind Branding at 7:00 PM. I do assume you know this, as I do assume you must work there, too, seeing as I rarely am in a position to meet anyone outside of my place of employment.

Cast off the anonymity for me. And, if you still do not feel ready for a relationship, allow me to love you anyway. As it stands, it is my belief that growth is easier when it isn’t pursued outside support.

Eager to give you all my attention,

Your Brian

P.S. - We can still send letters to each other after we’ve met. Don’t worry.

My eyes glue to allow me to love you anyway , and I can’t breathe. It’s a huge promise if Brian doesn’t know who he’s talking to. But…if he does…

I swallow and run my fingers across the words.

Could I, in ten days, be strong enough to stand before Brian and plainly admit that I’ve been writing him love letters?

My rampant heartbeat does not seem to think so.

Milling the possibility over, I drive home to find Brian standing at the door with a tray of turnovers in his hands. “A-mail-ia,” he declares, brightening. “Dinner’s ready.” His green eyes heat. “Unless, you’d prefer your dessert first?”

I mess with people more than I should.

Yes.

I, um, knew that.

Already.

It’s, how do you say…? Obvious.

It is also one of my favorite things about Brian.

He is joy and whimsy and the lightness of a child who never lost their spark or wonder.

He is hope and belief in the impossible.

I turn an absolute blind eye to any mischief that bothers others because just look at how happy it makes him! Do we not want him happy , people? Please don’t be ridiculous.

Flushed, I grip my purse and clear my throat. “I’m so sorry. Have you been waiting long?”

“I’ve been standing here for three years.” His eyes flick to my purse strap, where I’ve clipped the self-defense kit he bought for me. “You were safe, I presume?”

“Very safe.”

“Marvelous.” He plucks a turnover off the tray and heads into the kitchen. “I’ll set the table while you wash up.”

“Okay.” Swallowing nerves, I head to my room, carefully remove my Brian letter from my purse, and tuck it into my desk drawer with its friends.

If I accept his invitation…

I’m not sure I’ll survive.

Worse, what if he doesn’t actually know it’s me? What if he’s disappointed? What if he’s been thinking about someone else at his work this whole time?

So many things could go wrong.

My entire living situation is at risk.

I’ll just…have to make a decision later. Right now, Brian’s waiting on me after he’s spent time making dinner. And I’m going to set aside the feeling that I’m not doing enough to appreciate what he has done.

Because that’s character growth.

And character growth? Is very important…

My dearest Brian,

I am going to do my very best to take your words to heart. They make sense, and I want to allow myself to be human with kindness.

As far as your nature is concerned, you remain wonderful. I have always admired your penchant for mischief and known that it in no way hinders your tendency to make the world a brighter place.

There’s freedom in your passion, and I stick by my adoration.

I apologize for the briefness of this letter. It is because I fear I might talk myself out of my next words if I spend more time writing.

No, I must say what I am to say, then lock it away.

There’s no need to steal my time; I gift it freely.

See you on Christmas in July.

Signed and sealed,

Your Soon To Be Not-So-Secret Admirer