Signed, Sealed, Delivered: A brother’s best friend / anonymous penpal romance (Wells Family)

Age 25:

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Hey Lil,

We have an issue. I have the love sickness. I don’t know if I’ll make it.

Maybe it’s weird to send this to you, because if roles were reversed, I think I would be a little sad to hear you talk about another guy in your life (I mean, I should obviously be your main man), but I have to tell you…I have a new best friend. I can’t hide the secret any longer. It feels like I’m cheating on you. You have always been my #1. You know that. But I now have this girl…this amazing, heart-wrenchingly funny, food-loving, incredibly big-hearted girl who has absolutely mowed me over. So I regret to inform you that although you are still in my top 3 friends on Myspace, I had to bump you down to #2. I hope you can understand this and not hate me. Please don’t hate me.

You told me I was in love, but at the time, I wouldn’t let myself get there, but, uh…yeah. I am 1000% in love, and it is causing my organs to shut down. My body is in constant fight-or-flight mode because I can’t decide whether I want to ask her to marry me or ask her to move far away so I can regulate my stress levels. She is infuriatingly beautiful. She’s got these eyes and this smile that could stop traffic. And her hair is always so shiny (Haha. Get it?). She’s just as hot in Flintstones pajamas as she is dressed to the nines. She likes all my favorite things, and she makes me feel…valued. No matter what I do in life, it’ll never be enough to earn her. I can’t say no to a single thing she wants, partially because I feel like I owe her for her friendship alone—gag—and also because I don’t know how to say the word no to her without doubling over in pain. I’m absolutely screwed.

Shiny

***

My fingers had been flying across the keyboard for hours now, and I was beginning to wonder if blue light glasses actually worked. Because my eyeballs were sore, and I could have certainly used them hours ago. I was powering through this project so I could leave work early on Thursday to attend a recital for one of my students.

The publishing house was hosting an event next Saturday, and at the moment, my job had morphed from branch manager into event coordinator. After the last several days, I had far more respect for wedding planners than I ever expected. Seriously. The caterers, the tables, the decorations—which I had to farm out to marketing once I decided on a color scheme, because I had enough self-awareness to know that if I did it all on my own, the guests would be eating off dinosaur plates, and there would be a dinosaur-egg-balloon arch with a T-Rex in the middle. On top of all the event work, I was still expected to keep up with managing the office like normal. The problem was that I’d set the standard too high when I took the position. Now I was nearly two years into it, and they sent everything my way because they knew I’d say yes.

Instead of coming across as a can-do, optimistic, yes-I-totally-deserve-this-job boss, I was perceived as a pushover. A doormat. And that’s how I found myself saying yes to the entire editing department when they asked for a long weekend for National Punctuation Day. I was almost positive that wasn’t even a thing. I’d have to google it.

Another itty-bitty piece of my brain was avoiding Calla, who I knew was at home right now. I wasn’t quite ready to tackle that whole situation yet. I’d made a list of pros and cons in hopes of making a decision about telling Calla how I felt about her. After last night, it was obvious I had to be up front with the girl or cut myself out as a friend entirely. And neither of those options felt right.

Pros: Telling her the truth would ease the weight on my chest. She could reciprocate (I drew an extra big smiley face next to that one). I would have a live-in girlfriend. I could call her mine. I could hold her every time I wanted and not worry about repercussions.

The list went on for half a page.

Cons: What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if Luke disapproves?

Now that I’d compiled the list, I considered both options, pacing across my small office while throwing a stress toy in the air. The pro list seemed like a no-brainer. Until I really studied the con list. It was much shorter, sure, but it weighed so much more heavily.

The thought of losing Luke as my best friend…yeah, that sucked bad. The guy had never let me down for a second, and he deserved that kind of loyalty in return. But the thought of Calla not reciprocating my feelings? That one was far, far more detrimental.

So there I was, alone in the office, working late and ruminating on what my future might hold. Were we meant to be? Or was I grasping for excuses to confess my love for Calla? Just as I was about to say screw it, give up my man card, and ball up in the corner and cry like a baby, my phone buzzed.

It was a single text from Calla.

Calla: Hey, I made a blueberry cobbler, and I’ve got that dinosaur documentary with the narrator you’re so obsessed with queued up! Hurry home!!

It was that last word that I got snagged on. Home…

It brought flashes of memories of my time with Calla to the surface. Babysitting Dallas and Miles, folding parties, late-night talks over popcorn and Little Debbies, spreading handwritten notes all over the apartment for each other, leaving out my leftover coffee grounds for her. Anymore, I didn’t even remember what the place looked like before Calla moved in. When I lived alone, it was all about survival. Living day to day and never so much as wondering what else was out there for me. Because never in my life could I have imagined someone as incredible as Calla. Even the hopes and dreams I had for a future relationship didn’t hold a candle to what we had.

That place had never been a home until Calla moved into it. And it had nothing to do with the curtains she added or the colorful throw blankets or even the fancy soap that magically appeared in my bathroom. It was her. Her warm, comforting presence. The way she made everyone feel valued and included. How, despite how overwhelmingly amazing she was, she was still so humble. It didn’t hurt that she was so beautiful my chest ached every time she’d prance by in one of those little T-shirt dresses she liked to wear.

I looked up, like I was expecting God to point little finger guns at me. To make it clear that this text was my sign to rush home and flay myself open for her. Instead, all I found was a smooth white ceiling and a blinding light bulb poking out of the gold fixture.

I was just about to reply with an On my way and a GIF of Forrest Gump running when another notification popped up.

Luke: Four years ago today. Weird how old I feel now haha

He’d attached a picture of the two of us at West Oak. Layla must have taken it. The three of us had worked late, and we had made a tower of staple squares on my desk that almost reached the ceiling. Luke’s mouth was agape, and he had his hands pressed to his cheeks. His eyes were wide and his hair was a wild mess. My arms were crossed, and I was wearing Layla’s white-rimmed sunglasses. A smug smirk tugged at my lips because that tower had taken us hours, and I was feeling cocky about our abilities.

Four years ago today. In the last four years, I’d spent a lot of nights hanging out with our friends at the bar and then ending up alone in my bed. Lots of random dates and flirting but nothing substantial. Late nights at the office and early morning commutes. None of that had been as fulfilling, as rewarding, as the last two months with Calla had been.

My thoughts ping-ponged. Calla or Luke? I just sat on the floor of my office for a while, weighing both options and feeling an ache in my gut.

Eventually, I pulled myself off the floor and drove home on autopilot. I hadn’t answered either text. I feared if I responded to Calla, then my thumbs would betray me, and I may accidentally type out everything I was thinking. And if I answered Luke, it may come out as a I’msosorryI’minlovewithyoursisterandIhavehadreallyawfuldreamsabouther.

I pulled into my assigned parking spot, wincing at the new dent in Calla’s bumper. My phone buzzed again. This time, it was an email from Lily. She was one person I could always answer.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Hey shiny!! Haven’t heard much from you this week. Just making sure you’re okay. You know I get worried after so long. I start to wonder if you were abducted by aliens. Or maybe your new little girlfriend has kidnapped you and you’re on your way to the Cayman Islands.

Speaking of your crush: I was thinking about it last night. If you really love this girl, I mean really, really love her like you say you do, go tell her. Stop wasting your time. You know how before I was all maybe wait and see how it goes? Yeah, I take it all back. March your butt up to that little angel and tell her everything you’ve been thinking. Don’t just email me about your feelings. Find a way to tell her. (Also, still email me about your feelings because I am a succkeerrr for romance.) I say all of this because I’m desperate to know what’s going on in the head of someone in my life, and I just…need you to know it’s really important to us that you speak your truth. Even if it hurts at first.

Idk. You were just on my mind. I love you, my friend. Keep me updated.

Also, please reply to this so I know you’re not dead.

Lily

***

Well. That settled it. I should’ve known to ask Lily in the first place. She’d always been there for me and had always given great advice. When I couldn’t decide what color bands to get for my braces and when I told her my childhood dog needed to be put down, she was there. I never had to wonder or worry. Maybe that was why I hadn’t rushed to Lily in the first place. Because Calla had become that trusted person in my life. Or maybe I was being a crappy friend to Lily. Regardless, it was time to fix both of those issues. I would start with telling Calla, and then I’d email the results to Lily. Good or bad.

With my big boy pants hiked up and my confidence firmly in place, I marched inside. On the elevator ride up, I frantically tried to fix my hair, and I realized my scruff needed to be trimmed. But it was too late for that now. I also didn’t have any flowers or chocolates or Philly cheesesteaks to give her as a token of my affection. I could run out for something, but Lily had already hyped me up for this, so I was feeling like giving her some verbal flowers instead. And by verbal flowers, I meant telling her that I loved her.

I took a deep breath at the apartment door and shook my shoulders a bit. “You can do this. You’ve got this.”

I opened the door and was immediately overtaken by the scent of warm blueberry cobbler. The living room was empty, as well as the kitchen. Her purse was on the hook and her keys on the counter, so the only other option was her room.

I stomped down the hall with purpose, listening to her bump around her room and firmly knocked on the door three times.

“That’s it. I can’t do this anymore, Calla.” My voice was raspy and desperate, a pathetic representation of my feelings. “You have two options right now: marry me or move out tomorrow, because my brain can’t take this anymore. You consume my every thought. I have tried so, so hard not to fall for you, but nothing works. You’re so beautiful. By the end of every day, my head aches from all the straining I’ve done to avoid staring at you.

“You like all my favorite things, and you bake freaking cobblers for me. I never stood a chance. I hate that your brother is so dear to me. I hate that I have this loyalty to him because he’s been there for me for so long. I hate that you’re the one person I need most and yet the one person I cannot have.”

Okay, that was a bit much. Though I meant all of it. My only regret was that I could have been a little more gentle with the delivery. That, and she wasn’t responding. Why wasn’t she responding?

I waited another breath before knocking again and muttering, “Are you all right?” I pressed my ear against the door, waiting for a sign of acknowledgment or even disgust, but inside her room, it was silent. All too silent.

My whole body tensed, waiting for the worst. “Look, BG, I’m sorry. I’ll just go. Just come talk to me when you’re ready, all right?”

I expected at least an okay, but there wasn’t so much as a creak of the floorboard. Deflating, I took a step back, ready to turn to my own room and wallow in self-hatred. But before I could follow through, the door flew open.

In the doorway, Calla stood, soaking wet hair dangling down her neck and boxy black headphones over her ears. The look of shock on her face told me she’d had no idea I was even standing here.

With a shriek, she pulled one leg back and kicked me right in the crotch.

“Gah!” I hunched over in agony and yelled out as white-hot pain coursed through my body and a pulse of lightning raced up to my abdomen. A wave of nausea came over me, and I whimpered a nearly silent and very pathetic “help” before collapsing to the floor.

Calla sucked in a breath and fell to the floor next to me, which was when I became painfully aware that she was in nothing but a towel. She was fresh out of the shower, judging by the droplets of water dripping from her hair onto my legs. But I couldn’t appreciate the sight because my whole body was on fire and I desperately needed to be away from here.

“Nathan, oh my gosh! Are you all right?” She took off the boxy headphones and set them aside.

A groan was my only reply.

“I borrowed Rachel’s noise-canceling headphones to listen to the last couple episodes of my true crime podcast. I was just about to find out who the killer was. I am so, so sorry. I thought you were a murderer. I didn’t even hear you come in.”

Calla’s hands were sliding up and down my shoulders in comfort, but I could hardly enjoy it because the urge to throw up was so strong.

With deep breaths in and out of my nose, I shook my head and attempted to stand.

Calla shot up with me, grabbing my elbow in support. “Come on, let’s get you to the couch.”

I let her assist me to our couch and dropped my head back as she ran off to the kitchen. A freezer drawer opened and closed, and she came running back to me with a bag of…

“Is that bread?” I squeaked out.

She looked down at the plastic bag and back at me. “Yeah, my mom made it like a week ago. You don’t freeze your bread?”

My hair fell into my eyes as I shook my head.

“Oh, maybe that’s just us. Okay, well, hold still, bud.” She tossed the bag into the air, and suddenly, the loaf was landing on the zipper of my pants. In the same place she’d kicked me.

I couldn’t stop the roar that escaped me as that bolt of pain shocked through me again.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Calla ran circles around me, flapping her hands and furrowing her brow.

Note to self: this girl is terrible under pressure. That trait seemed to run in the Wells family.

“I thought I would kill two birds with one stone.” She giggled a little. “I guess I killed two stones with one bird instead, though.”

I groaned at the poor joke.

“Sorry, sorry. I’ll get some aloe, or maybe Neosporin? What do guys rub on their—”

“Calla.”

“Yes?”

“Please stop talking.”

“Sorry.”

She sank to the floor next to me, still wrapped in a towel, which only made my situation worse, and patted my foot.

That definitely hadn’t gone the way I’d hoped.