I shook my head, sniffled, and squared my shoulders as I faced her. “Not that it’s any of your business, but we weren’t together when you and I had dinner. Then we worked things out a few weeks ago.”

“So why are you crying now?” she spat, pursing her lips, her eyes narrowed slits.

Suddenly, I was too tired for this conversation, for her brand of crazy, so I said, “That’s also none of your business.”

I turned away from my cousin and the remainder of the dishes, needing the solace of my dark room and softer tissues.

“Hey! Wait, we’re not done here.”

I turned and walked backward, shaking my head at her nasty audacity. “You are my cousin, Tina. I will always love you, notwithstanding your spitefulness. I will. If you ever need my help, I’ll be there for you. But we’re not friends. I don’t like being lied to, and I don’t like you trying to cast aspersions on Duane’s good character. So, we are done here. I’m finished, and now I’m leaving.”

***

Duane,

I think you’ve broken my heart. I’ve never had my heart broken before, but I’m pretty sure this sick sadness is it. I didn’t sleep after you left. I cried for a long time though. I feel like I kept trying to give myself to you and you kept withholding yourself from me, and now I guess I know why.

I’m not so good at letting go. Once I get an idea in my head I hold on to it with both hands, so you’ll have to pardon my inability to just walk away now without saying my peace. You said a few things on Wednesday night/Thursday morning that weren’t true, so now I want to set the record straight.

I meant it when I said I have no immediate plans to leave Green Valley. I still have the rest of the school year to finish and there’s no one to who can fill in or take my place. I may have the wanderlust, my soul may long to see and live in the world, to explore and have adventures, but that doesn’t make me a flake. That doesn’t mean I don’t take my obligations and promises seriously.

Tina came to Thanksgiving at the house yesterday and told me you’ve been chasing after her for the last three weeks. She showed me text messages that you’d sent and then you called her phone, left her a message while I was standing there with her. Just so you know, I don’t believe her. I know you, Duane. You’re not anything like your father. You’re not a cheater.

I love you and want to be with you all the time, so, yes, I asked you to come with me when the time comes. Maybe I shouldn’t have done that. Maybe that’s asking too much. But I want you to belong to me and I want to belong to you.

I wish you would ask me to stay, or help me try to find a compromise. Compromise isn’t dishonorable. Asking me to stay isn’t either. Please ask me to stay.

Love always, -Jess

I read then re-read the seventeenth iteration of my letter.

Presently, it was the day after Thanksgiving. I’d been working on the letter all day, and had discarded the other sixteen because, after getting past the part where I told him how much I loved him, my mind invariably returned to the moment when he’d left the cabin.

He’d left me standing in that sheet, with a dead fire and a cold bed. He’d just walked away from me. So I would become spitting mad. I was still mad now, but I recognized calling him insulting names in the letter—like shit-for-brains—might be counterproductive to the letter’s purpose. I needed him to read it. It was a way for me to monologue and share my thoughts without the unhelpful shit-for-brains comments slipping out.

Plus name calling wasn’t likely to inspire affection and an open heart.

I set the letter back on my desk and rubbed my eyes, reflecting on how complicated life had become over the last month. Likely it was the ghost of J.R.R. Tolkien making me crazy as retribution for the blasphemy of my sexy Gandalf costume.

“Knock-knock.”

I turned from my desk and found Claire poking her head in my bedroom door, her mouth was flattened in sympathy.

“Hey. How are you holding up?”

I sighed, twisting to my desk and quickly flipping the letter over. “Come in and shut the door.”

She did, moving to sit on the edge of my bed nearest my location. I turned fully in my seat to face her.

“I’m so sorry about your aunt. Your momma says you two were really close.”

I stared at Claire for a beat, then shook my head. “That’s not true. We weren’t close.”

“Didn’t you work for her? Live with her over the summer during college?”

“Yes, but we weren’t close. When I lived with her she had me stay in one of the maid’s rooms, and we never took meals together unless Momma was visiting.”

Claire’s face screwed up with confusion. “Well, that’s a strange way to treat family.”

It must’ve been strange for Claire to label it as such, especially considering Claire’s experience with her own extremely dysfunctional family.

“I organized her house and schedule. When she had visitors, she’d tell people I was on staff. She never once referred to me by my name, let alone admit I was related. I just figured she was embarrassed by me.” I shrugged, shrugging off the twinge of hurt feelings I’d long ago set aside, but now felt remarkably fresh given the fact she’d given birth to me.

At first, during the early days of my employment, my feelings had been hurt. I’d thought working for Louisa would bring us closer together. Ironically, in retrospect, I’d thought she’d be like a second mother. I’d thought we’d talk to each other about topics other than hiring a new driver, replacing the tile in the blue damask bedroom, and her various nail and hair appointments.

But working for my aunt had only served to segregate us into the roles of employer and employee. I’d never grown attached to Aunt Louisa because she didn’t want me to be attached. She’d distanced me in a way that had felt purposeful.

“Huh…” Claire sat back on the bed, crossing her arms. “That is so bizarre. The way your momma spoke just now she made it sound like your aunt loved you most in the world.”

I sighed again. I was doing a lot of sighing. I wasn’t ready to tell Claire that my aunt was actually my birth mother. I wasn’t ready to talk about Louisa because I didn’t know how to feel about her. So, once again, I pushed my feelings away.

I decided to tell Claire the truth minus the maternity reveal. “I never figured her out.”

“But she left you all that money.”

“Yeah. She left me everything.”

Claire tilted her head to the side, her bright eyes assessing my face. “Is that why you look so forlorn? Don’t tell me you’re feeling guilty about your aunt’s money?”

I shook my head, biting my lip so I wouldn’t speak the truth about my mood. If I’d learned anything from this disaster it was to be considerably more guarded with my heart. I’d always thought that if I were open to love, then love would find me. As it turns out, if you’re open to love, then heartbreak finds you and leaves you naked in a cabin with no electricity or indoor plumbing.

But Claire knew me too well. Her eyes narrowed on my lip and she tilted her head the other way, her assessment becoming full-on scrutiny.

“Jessica, what are you hiding?”

I shook my head faster.

“What’s going on? You’re miserable and it isn’t your aunt and it isn’t inheritance guilt. Something has happened.”

I shook my head even faster, but now Claire was a blur of red hair and white skin, because my eyes were filling with tears. And, crap, I just sobbed.

She reached forward and pulled me into a hug, stroked my hair and held me tight. “Goodness gracious, what is going on? You’re shaking.”

I grabbed fistfuls of her shirt and cried on my friend. Cried and cried. I don’t know how long I cried, but it was a good while and it was embarrassing. She hushed me and spoke soothing words. Her shirt at the shoulder was soaked by the time the tears ebbed.