Tea For Two

30

Disclaimer: This is the penultimate part of an original work of fiction. It belongs to me in every way imaginable that I haven't allowed my readers to have their slight freedom, so don't steal it. Thank you. Enjoy. 

~~~

Daddy's been gone for four days. I've got one more day of school, and then graduation day. I haven't talked to my mother about whether or not I get to go to Graduation, even though Jonathon is going to graduate. I don't know if I want to go. Do I want to be around that many people yet?

It's Saturday. I am slowly wasting away, stretched out on the floor, trying to get away from summer's impending heat. My mother is sitting on the couch behind me.

"Will you please go get the mail, August? It's about that time."

"Yes, ma'am."

When I open the mailbox, the only mail we have consists of a new issue of Better Homes and Gardens, wrapped around a couple of bills. It's pretty usual. While I walk back to the house, I flick through the envelopes like I always do, and I find that one of them isn't a bill. It's a creamy color, about the same size, but a little thicker. It's addressed to me in familiar cramped handwriting. The return address is in North Dakota.

I immediately open it, and find a handwritten letter inside, along with a picture-

The picture that Jonathon woke us up by taking back at Kyle's house, what feels like years ago. In it, we are both asleep, my arm around her waist and her chin on top of my head.

I enter the house and hand my mother the mail.

"Oh, a new Better Homes and Gardens," she coos.

"Yeah," I murmur, unfolding my letter.

    

Dear August,

    

"What's that, August?" my mother asks, barely looking over the top of her magazine to look at me.

"Oh, Emily wrote me a letter."

"Really?"

I hum in agreement.

"That's so interesting. That's really a lost art, you know."

                   

I am so sorry. My mom told me about the whole Sellers thing, so I know you probably want to hit me right now. That's why I wrote instead of calling, because I think you'd hang up on me, and that would make this hard. It's already hard.

       

"So how is she?"

I know she's not asking because she cares. I know she's just asking because she may get some gossip out of it.

"Fine."

             

Sometimes, I do things to hurt the people I love, and I can't really explain why. I do this all the time. Not down to every detail, but almost. I once told you that I'm not good with goodbyes, but that's not all of it.

Part of the reason that I don't keep contact with people after I leave is because I'd rather not say goodbye, not really. It's easier that way, with a clear moment where we stopped talking, instead of it happening later, and neither of us can remember who was the last to hang up. After a while, I figured out that it wouldn't be that easy with you. You'd keep trying.

              

"Just fine?" She asked a minute or so ago, and I'm really getting sick of hearing her voice.