“What if you need to review something later on?” I ask.
“Why would I need to do that?” she asks. “Finals are over!”
I don’t have a good answer. I want my academic life from this semester out of sight as well, but I opt to drop all the papers into the bottom drawer of my desk.
“We’re all going out later to get drunk,” she says. “You in?”
“Of course,” I say. “My flight home isn’t until later tonight.”
“Awesome. I’m going home tomorrow. I think that’s when Dylan’s leaving, too. Not sure about Hudson.”
I nod. “Oh, hey, so how are things with you and Dylan?”
“They’re good, actually.” She smiles. “It was just a fling. Being friends is best.”
“So, is he back together with Peyton?”
“Oh, I have no idea.” She laughs. “I thought he was, but then he said that he wasn’t. Those two are addicted to each other. He told me that they’ve broken up and got back together like ten times! So much drama.”
“I never thought I’d hear that from you.” I laugh.
“Oh, I like drama. On stage. On screen. A little bit in my life. But his level of drama is out of control. No, not for me.”
We crack up laughing. As different as Juliet and I are, I know that I’m going to miss her over break.
“So, you never told me, what are you doing for next semester?”
“What do you mean?”
“Weren’t you planning on moving out? Not living with your ex again?” she asks.
“Oh, that. No, I’m planning on staying. We’re in a good place now,” I say. “Honestly, I completely forgot to even file the paperwork.”
“Well, that’s good. For me, at least.” Juliet smiles. “’Cause I kinda like you as a roommate.”
“Oh, really? Well, I kinda like you as a roommate, too.”
Later that afternoon, while we wait for Dylan to come back from his last final, I decide to pack. As I pull the suitcases out of the closet, all the clothes from the top shelf fall on me.
“Great. Just great,” I mutter and start sifting through them.
I need some warm clothes, but not that many. Definitely don’t need the really warm sweaters or the snow boots. Unless, of course, I go skiing, which is a possibility. Shit. I’m going to have to lug all of this crap back home. I start tossing all of my favorite clothes into the bag. I should be rolling them like my dad showed me, to maximize room, but I’m not really in the mood to organize. What will fit will fit and that’s it. I have more clothes at home, clothes that I didn’t wear for four months. Might be a nice change.
As I rummage through the closet, I work up quite a sweat. I decide to open the window to let in some fresh air. I don’t see the box of thank-you cards on the windowsill and they go flying out.
“Shit! Oh my God!” I scream, but it’s too late. They are already halfway down the building. Since they weren’t thank-you cards that I ever planned on mailing out, I didn’t bother with the envelopes. They open up mid-flight and take on air. Most take their time and fall at a leisurely pace, letting the wind take them on an adventure.
“What’s wrong?” I hear someone yell back up to me. It’s Hudson. He’s standing at the bottom of the building.
“My cards!” I scream. “They’re going everywhere!”
“I’ll get them!” he yells.
“I’ll be right down!” I yell back, pulling on my Uggs and grabbing my coat.
With just my luck, the elevator stops at practically every single floor. People are done with finals. They’re happily chatting away. On two occasions, I have to tell them that I’m in a hurry as they hold the elevator open saying their goodbyes. I should’ve taken the stairs, but it’s too late now. I tap my foot anxiously. My cards are probably all over Manhattan now. Ten minutes later, I finally get onto Broadway. Hudson stands at the corner with a thick stack of cards, reading one. I look around the street. Don’t see a single one.
“Hey, that’s private!” I say loudly, so that he can hear me over the sound of afternoon traffic. An ambulance rushes by, deafening me to the point where I can’t even hear my own thoughts.
Hudson doesn’t look up. It’s like he can’t hear me.
“That’s private,” I say, walking up to him. He looks up.
“It’s addressed to me,” he says.
From the cover, I can tell that he’s reading the last card I wrote. Why did it have to be that one? I wish more than anything that he were reading any other card.
“It’s still private. I didn’t mean for you to read it. I was never going to send it.”
“Dear Hudson.” He ignores me and starts reading. I try to get the card out of his hand, but he lifts it above his head, continues to read out loud. “Dear Hudson, I’m just writing to say thank you. Thank you for coming back into my life as a friend. Thank you for saying all those things you said. I’ve been waiting for you to say them for a very long time. I love you, too. I’m going to love you for as long as I live. You were the best first boyfriend that a girl could dream of. I don’t think I’m ever going to be ready to say goodbye, but that’s what I’m doing now. I know you said that you want me back, but I’m afraid. Afraid of going through all of this again. The thing is, Hudson, I need a sign. I need a sign that getting back together is the right thing to do. Until then, I’m going to say thank you and goodbye. Love, Alice.”
“That was private,” I say.
“I know,” Hudson says.
He hands me the stack of thank-you cards and walks away. Slowly, the rest of the world comes into focus.
