30 November 2083

Anya,

A brief note to let you know that Natty is fine. She misses you a great deal, but your friends Win and Scarlet have done their best to cheer her up. I admit that the apartment does feel large without you, and we consume peas at an even slower rate than before. We all hope you can return soon. I have not been told where you are, but I know it can be a disorienting experience to be away from home for the first time. Here is a quote from one of my favorite novels—I believe you will readily recognize which one: “It is a very strange sensation to inexperienced youth to feel itself quite alone in the world, cut adrift from every connection, uncertain whether the port to which it is bound can be reached, and prevented by many impediments from returning to that it has quitted. The charm of adventure sweetens that sensation, the glow of pride warms it; but then the throb of fear disturbs it; and fear with me became predominant, when half an hour elapsed and still I was alone. I bethought myself to ring the bell.” It seems to me good advice, Anya. If all else fails, ring the bell.

Imogen Goodfellow

My Darling Annie,

My life has fallen into utter tragedy!

Do you remember how I threw up when you were in the hospital at Liberty? Well, I never got the flu, and I thought, Oh, Scarlet, how lucky you are! But then I kept throwing up every afternoon at exactly the same time, and it turned out that I, your silly, love-crossed friend, was pregnant! And by Gable Arsley, that monster. I haven’t told him it’s his, but he knows, I’m sure he knows. Actually, I haven’t even spoken to him since the day we broke up. He tries to talk to me, but I ignore him. I don’t care. I would never raise a baby with him. I wouldn’t even raise a kitten with him. I wouldn’t even raise a stuffed kitten with him.

As for being pregnant … The biggest tragedy is that I was cast to be Juliet in Fall Shakespeare and then that beast Mr. Beery threw me out of the play when I told him I was with child! Can you imagine, Anya? The show goes on without me.

Also, my breasts are now as big as yours. Where before I had kiwis now I have grapefruit! I am not terribly fat yet but soon I’ll have to get a Trinity skirt with an elastic waist! Can you imagine? Scarlet Barber in an elastic waist?

Also, also, I have no friends. All the drama people are busy in the play, and everyone else is kind of ignoring me. Win is pretty much my only friend these days. He talks about you constantly. It would be incredibly boring if I didn’t miss you so much myself.

Guess who almost joined you in the ranks of “girls expelled from Holy Trinity”?

Apparently, getting pregnant is frowned upon by Catholic schools. Who knew? Since I’m a senior, they’re letting me stay even though it has been made clear to me that I am little more than a walking cautionary tale.

While we are on the subject … How could I have been such a fool as to sleep with Gable Arsley? Yes, he said he loved me. But he said that to you, too, and you managed to keep your legs together, didn’t you?

I’m sure there are a million other things I meant to say to you, but I am sleepy. All I want to do is nap lately. And eat chocolate if I could figure out where to get any. Merry Christmas, Annie, my love.

Je t’aime! Je t’aime! Je t’aime!

Scarlet

Anya:

Mr. Kipling asked me not to write you about the business until we have more solid information but I feel that I must. I believe that your cousin Fats is making moves to seize the business from Yuri and Mickey. If that happens, Balanchine Chocolate will be left in utter disarray. Fats is a small-time guy with no understanding of the larger organizational politics at play. I am at present trying to arrange for your return. I have meetings set with Bertha Sinclair in January to see what can be done. When the time comes, I will contact you.

Remember, Anya. You are still the daughter of Leonyd Balanchine. You have more claim than Yuri, Mickey, or Fats. The sooner you can come home, the better. Even an Anya Balanchine back in Liberty is superior to an Anya Balanchine that no one can see or talk to. Apologies if I have overstepped my place.

Your humble servant,

Simon Green, Esq.

Annie,

This is not a love letter.

I think you would laugh at me if I wrote you a love letter, so I’m not going to. If this accidentally becomes one, you have my permission to throw it in the fire.

So, here it is:

I ate an orange, and I thought of you.

I did a lab on tissue decomposition, and I thought of you.

I took the train to visit my sister’s grave in Albany, and I thought of you. The band played the Fall Formal, and I thought of you.

I saw a girl with dark curly hair on the street, and I thought of you.

I took your kid sister to Coney Island—she’s the only one who is as blue as I am. Natty’s the smartest kid in the world and good company. Still, I thought of you.

You have often said that you think the only reason I ever liked you was because of who my father is—that I liked you because my father wished I wouldn’t. Well, it might interest you to know that Dad lost the election. He’s out of politics, and I still like you.

There it is.

This is not a love letter.

Win

I read my letters, then reread them. I put them to my face so I could feel where my friends’ hands had been. I even tried to smell the letters, but they didn’t smell like anything except ink and fresh paper. (If you’ve never smelled it, ink is oddly bitter, like blood almost.)

After so much time of hearing nothing, the news was overwhelming. When I left New York, I buried Anya Balanchine, and in Mexico, I had become this other girl. I liked this other Anya, but reading these letters reminded me that I couldn’t be her forever.

A knock at my door. “May I come in?” Theo asked. I stuffed the passel of letters under my pillow.

“Yes,” I said. Theo entered, closing the door behind him. “I was told boys weren’t allowed in the girls’ rooms at Casa Mañana,” I said.

“This is a special case. I thought you might need to talk,” Theo said.

He already knew my secret, and so I decided to unburden myself to him. It was the first time I had had a true confidant since Nana.

Theo didn’t interrupt me and he was silent a while before speaking. “Here is what you do. First, you do not marry this Yuji Ono. He does not love you, Anya, and it is obvious that he is only interested in expanding his influence. Second, do not go back to New York”—he paused—“ever.”

“But Simon Green said that everything is falling apart. And Yuji, whatever his interest, said the same thing.”

Theo shrugged. “What difference does it make if the chocolate company falls apart? One set of crooks or another. What is it to you? Why do you care if it’s the end of Balanchine Chocolate? This company has only brought you pain.”

I considered what he said. “I … I suppose I care because my father built that company. And if Balanchine Chocolate dies, it will be like my father dies all over again.”

Theo nodded slowly. “You love Balanchine Chocolate like I love cacao.” “I wouldn’t say love, Theo.”

“No, you speak the truth. Love isn’t right. It isn’t right for me either. Sometimes I hate cacao.” Theo looked at me. “You don’t love Balanchine Chocolate. You are Balanchine Chocolate.”

“Yes. I suppose I am.”

“You have to go back. But I also think it is no good if you are in too much of a rush. You should let your lawyers do the job of arranging your return. Until then, you can help me prepare the next harvest.”