I lift the envelope with my name on it, assuming it would be the only thing left inside the box since all we put in it before closing it were these two letters. But beneath our two letters, there are a few more letters, all addressed to me with dates on them. He’s been adding letters. I look up at him, silently questioning him.
“There were things I needed to say that you never really wanted to hear.” He grabs his envelope and walks out the back door, onto Ava and Reid’s back porch. I take the box to the guest bedroom and close the door.
I sit alone on the bed, holding the only envelope from him that I expected to find in the box. The one from our wedding night. He wrote the date in the top right corner of the envelope. I open the other envelopes and I pile the pages on top of each other in the order they were written. I’m too scared to read any of it. Too scared not to.
When we locked this box all those years ago, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind that we wouldn’t need to open it before our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. But that was back before reality set in. Back before we knew that our dream of having kids would never come true. Back before we knew that the more time that passed and the more devastating moments I experienced and the more Graham made love to me, that it would all start to hurt.
My hands are shaking as I press the pages to the blanket, smoothing them out. I lift the first page and begin to read it.
I don’t think I’m prepared for this. I don’t think anyone who gets married for the right reasons ever expects this moment to come. I stiffen like I’m bracing myself for impact as I begin to read.
Dear Quinn,
I thought I would have more time to prepare this letter. We aren’t supposed to get married yet, so this gift is all very last minute. I’m not even that great of a writer, so I’m not sure I’m even going to be able to convey what I need to say to you in words. I’m better with numbers, but I don’t want to bore you with a bunch of math equations, like Me plus you equals infinity.
If you think that’s cheesy, you’re lucky you met me later in life, rather than when I was in junior high. When I was in the seventh grade, I concocted a love poem that I was going to write down and give to my first girlfriend. Thank God it was years later before I actually got my first girlfriend. By then, I realized what a bad idea it was to rhyme a love poem with the Periodic Table of Elements.
However, I’m so comfortable in my masculinity around you, I think this is the perfect time to finally put that Periodic Table of Elements love poem to use. Because yes, I still remember it. Some of it.
Hey, girl, you’re looking mighty fine
Feels like I’m breathing Iodine
Your smile gets all up in my head
Feel so heavy, like I’m dragging Lead
Your skin is smooth, it looks so sleek
It’s like someone dipped you in Zinc
Kissing you would never get old
Marry me girl, I’ll flank you in Gold
That’s right. You’re the lucky girl who gets to marry the author of that poem today.
Good thing it’ll be twenty-five years before you read it, because as soon as we’re married this afternoon, I’m never letting you out of this marriage. I’m like Hotel California. You can love Graham any time you like, but you can never leave.
The minister will be here in two hours. You’re upstairs getting ready for our wedding as I write this letter. On our way here yesterday, we stopped at a bridal store and you made me wait in the car while you ran inside to pick out a wedding dress. When you got back to the car with the dress hidden inside of a garment bag, you couldn’t stop laughing. You said the ladies who were helping you thought you were insane, buying a dress just a day before your wedding. You said they gasped when you told them you’re a procrastinator and that you still haven’t picked out a groom.
I can’t wait to see what you look like walking down that aisle of sand. It’ll just be you in your dress on a beach with no decorations, no guests, no fanfare. And the entire ocean will be our backdrop. But let’s just pray none of your dream from last night comes true.
This morning when you woke up, I asked what I had missed while you were sleeping. You told me you had a dream that we were getting married on the beach, but right before we said I do, a tsunami came and washed us away. But we didn’t die. We both turned into aquatic killers. You were a shark and I was a whale, and we were still in love, even though you were a fish and I was a mammal. You said the rest of your dream was just us trying to love one another in an ocean full of creatures who didn’t approve of our interspecies relationship.