DATE: MAR 11 AT 2:05 PM
SUBJECT: RE: BIG APPLE SHENANIGANS
Oops—just looking at some stuff in Greenwich Village. Look, it’s Washington Square Park!!!
FROM: LEAHONTHEOFFBEAT@GMAIL.COM
TO: ABBYSUSO710@GMAIL.COM
DATE: MAR 11 AT 2:07 PM
SUBJECT: RE: BIG APPLE SHENANIGANS
Washington Square Park. Interesting . . .
FROM: ABBYSUSO710@GMAIL.COM
TO: LEAHONTHEOFFBEAT@GMAIL.COM
DATE: MAR 11 AT 2:09 PM
SUBJECT: RE: BIG APPLE SHENANIGANS
Agreed.
Also interesting: the fact that we’re emailing when we’re literally sitting on a porch swing together. Shall we find another way to occupy those hands?
FROM: HOURTOHOUR.NOTETONOTE@GMAIL.COM
TO: BLUEGREEN118@GMAIL.COM
DATE: MAR 24 AT 6:12 PM
SUBJECT: OOF
Just got back to my dorm, and I guess you’re somewhere in New Jersey by now. So how does this go again? Right, here’s the part where I stare at my laptop screen trying to drudge up a shred of positivity. So . . . that was really good. We got sixteen days together, and obviously that’s pretty extraordinary. Um.
I don’t know, Bram. I’m just so tired of how bad it always feels to lose you. Remind me why we’re doing this to ourselves again? My room feels so quiet without you, which just baffles me. Like, no one’s out there giving you noise complaints, Bram Greenfeld. So maybe it’s not actually quieter here—maybe it just feels quiet in my brain. I kind of want Kellan to come back and bother me. I texted him the all-clear as soon as we left for the train station, but I guess he’s still in Grover’s room. Because why the fuck wouldn’t he be? If you lived in my building, I don’t think I’d ever go outside.
I’m just exhausted from this. Like, is this even working for you?
FROM: BLUEGREEN118@GMAIL.COM
TO: HOURTOHOUR.NOTETONOTE@GMAIL.COM
DATE: MAR 24 AT 6:15 PM
SUBJECT: RE: OOF
Nope. It’s not working.
FROM: SIMONIRVINSPIER@GMAIL.COM
TO: LEAHONTHEOFFBEAT@GMAIL.COM
DATE: MAR 31 AT 9:14 PM
SUBJECT: RE: TOP SECRET
Leah,
I know this email is three months late. More than three months. I don’t even have a good excuse to give you. I just dropped the ball. And I guess I kind of dropped it on purpose. But your honesty here was such a huge fucking gift, and I just took it and never gave you any kind of honesty back. I’m really sorry. And I’m really grateful for your questions.
I’m going to try to answer every single one of them, okay?
I want to have sex with Bram for seventy years. I want to change diapers. I don’t even want to think about taxes or health insurance, but if I HAVE to, Leah, then yeah. I want that with Bram. He’s absolutely the person I want to spend my life with.
And I know this right now.
Though, I don’t think I want it to happen right now.
But it’s not like I don’t want it to happen. And if he asked me tomorrow? I’d say yes. I wouldn’t hesitate for a second. Okay, maybe tomorrow I’d hesitate (my inner goddess trusts NO ONE on April Fool’s Day anymore. Nope).
Leah, I don’t have a clue why I told Luke it was a marriage proposal. And I don’t remember how it felt when I said it. Saying it out loud wasn’t some kind of revelation for me. It already felt out loud. It’s always felt out loud.
I hope I’m making sense (probably not). But I just want you to know how much your email helped me do this thing I need to do (something scary and exciting and extremely inevitable).
You’re a fucking gem, Leah Burke, you know that?
Love,
Simon
FROM: HOURTOHOUR.NOTETONOTE@GMAIL.COM
TO: BLUEGREEN118@GMAIL.COM
DATE: MAR 31 AT 11:17 PM
SUBJECT: I MUST REALLY LIKE YOU.
Dear Blue,
I have to tell you something. And I’m so nervous about it, which is why I’m doing this in an email. I don’t want to put you on the spot or forget to say stuff, and I really don’t want to make anything weird. Which is probably a lost cause, but I’ll give it a shot. COMMENCING: OPERATION SIMON SPIER DON’T BE WEIRD. (Welp. Going great already, I see.)
So I did a thing. And I guess I’ve been working on it for a couple of months now. But I’ve been really unsure if it’s the right thing, or if YOU would think it’s the right thing. And it might not even work out in the end. It’s pretty much out of my hands now.
Bram, I applied to transfer next year. To NYU. I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. But I wasn’t sure I was going to go through with it. And B, I didn’t want you to feel bad or guilty, or like you should be looking into transferring here. So yeah. I just wanted to do it and put it out into the universe, and we’ll see what happens. It looks like I’ll find out in May.
But, okay, the first thing you should know is this: If I get in, we’re making this decision together. I don’t want to crowd you (I know it’s New York, lol, but you know what I mean). I know it would be a big change for us, and maybe it’s too much. I don’t know. I’m just saying, nothing’s set in stone yet.
And I also want you to know that I don’t see this as a sacrifice. Because I wouldn’t be giving anything up. The only year that’s been even partially written is this one. Everything else is wide open. It’s the weirdest thing, B, because now I don’t even know where I’ll graduate. But this is my freshman year, you know? And I think it was supposed to be here. My tiny little Philadelphia nerd school with my weirdo roommate who, god help us, will probably be in our wedding one day. Bram, you wouldn’t believe how much I fell in love with this place the minute I knew I wanted to transfer. I know that sounds completely absurd, but it all just feels so precious right now. Like it’s not a place that’s keeping us apart. It’s just a place. And it’s a place I get to keep, no matter what. It’s in my nesting doll now.
And maybe NYU will be too.
