letters to sam • sgc

iii

The mail had been piling up for the past week. Ma was way too busy to stop over, and Sunny didn't even live here, so it wasn't even her problem. I easily could've, but I dreaded having to encounter him again.

Marcus had told me that ma should bake him something to go with the mail, maybe help to sweeten him up. I'd taken it as a joke, but when ma asked what I was laughing (bitterly) about, she'd loved the idea.

Of course she'd consulted Sunny about it, just because I was so against it, for a 'surprising' vote of two against one. They weren't even the ones who had to go over and deliver whatever ma decided to bake, so it was no wonder they were all for the idea.

Ma made sure I was dressed 'normally' this time. Maybe Sam just had some strange aversion to trains.

"What if he's allergic to apple pie?" I groan.

"Who is allergic to apple pie?" Ma scoffs, turning around from where she was saran-wrapping the pie.

"Jenny," I mutter.

She just rolls her eyes, forcefully handing me the dish. I take it with reluctance, remembering to also grab the stack of mail on the table. I don't know how one person could get so many letters in a week, but who was I to judge. I barely even got mail, especially not at home.

"If I come home crying, it's your fault," I warn ma, who was busy trying to shove me out the door.

"You won't come home crying, and if you do, we just won't give him his mail anymore," she says simply, succeeding in her endeavors. "Now, get going."

I felt kind of stupid, walking down the street with an entire pie and a stack of someone else's mail, but hey, thank God I wasn't wearing those childish pajamas, right? Because that would be ridiculous.

This was probably the first time I'd put on jeans in like a week. Stupid thing to put jeans on for.

No one's really outside, which I'm thankful for. It's much easier to evade conversations with nosy neighbors when you're clearly listening to music and not holding a still-steaming apple pie. Sometimes those things are just unavoidable, though.

I can feel the dread growing as I approach the house- the house that I used to love. It's barely been a week, and I'm now nervous to even see the front door.

Because I can't seem to catch a break, his car is parked in the driveway. It's one of those dark SUVs that you can't quite tell if it's black or blue, but when I get closer, I can see it has hints of blue in it.

Begrudgingly, I walk up the pavement to the house, the small flight of stone steps I used to think were cute now being my worst enemy. I would honestly rather go into cardiac arrest than walk up them to the stoop, but the only thing being worse than walking somewhere with a pie is walking back with the same pie.

Not that I would know, of course. I've never had to do something like this before.

So, with a sigh, I make my way up the stairs to the front door. I could totally put the letters in the wall-mounted mail box and leave the pie on the stoop, but the squirrels would probably get at it before he could, and that would not go over well with ma. The squirrels deserved it more than him, though.

With another sigh, I ring the doorbell before I can chicken out.

Waiting for the door to open felt like waiting for Top Gun to end- forever.

But, fortunately, the movie did end, and unfortunately, the door did open.

I'm met by those striking green eyes and messy wet hair. He'd clearly just gotten out of the shower, immediately making me lose anything I had planned to say so I wouldn't look like an idiot again. I can already feel my face starting to heat up.