Hate Mail

by Donna Marchetti

Dear Naomi, I hope you get struck by lightning and die in the middle of your next weather report. Wouldn’t that be ironic? —L

I had thought the idea of writing to a pen pal was stupid. I had nothing to say to some kid in some other state. I was probably the only kid in my class who wasn’t excited about it.

“Why are you still being so mean to her? She was probably excited about having a pen pal.”

I knew what he was doing. He was trying to get me to see Naomi as one of them: a real person, rather than just a piece of paper that came in the mail.

“I don’t want to have to keep writing to someone all year long. If she’s the one who decides not to write back, then it won’t be my fault, and Mrs. Martin will leave me alone.”

I knew that the whole point of writing mean letters was to get her to stop writing back, but I hadn’t realized it would happen this quickly. Now I was the only kid in the class who didn’t have a letter to read.

I had given up on hearing from Naomi by the time the next round of letters came in the mail.

Dear Luca, I wasn’t going to write back to you after what you said to me last time. I don’t like to use bad words, but I want you to know that you’re an asshole. I realized that you probably only said those nasty things to get out of having to write to me, so I decided that the best punishment is for me to just keep writing to you.

“Your mom and I are getting a divorce. I want you to know that this has nothing to do with you. Your mom and I— We just can’t make it work anymore. We thought it would be best if we went our separate ways, so I, uh, I got a job in Montana. I came back to get my things, and I’m leaving tonight.”

I wondered if she looked forward to these stupid letters like I did. I wondered if it would hurt her if I stopped writing back. I wondered if she would comfort me if I opened up to her, or if she would only make fun of me for being anything but mean or boring.

The thing about Naomi was that no matter how mean I was, or how terrible of a mood I was in when I wrote to her, she always wrote back. And I was really, really mean. For a year after my dad left, I used her as a virtual punching bag. I never told her what happened because I didn’t want her to pity me like everyone else did.

I couldn’t believe that all this time, I had been writing to her. She made the hottest girl at my own high school look like a mushroom in comparison. I suddenly wished that I could take back all the mean things I had ever written to her.

I wonder what his motivations are, and why I’m finally hearing from him after two years. Why now? It feels a little like whiplash to be forgotten for so long just to hear from him again and still not be able to write back.

Anne got me up early to track him down, and now here we are at eight in the morning, standing in front of the house he grew up in. It’s a pale blue house with white shutters. There’s a mailbox on the corner of the lot. I wonder if this is the same mailbox that housed the countless letters I sent to this address over the years.

There were times when I wondered if he actually hated me. Some of his letters were so mean, and so personal, that I wondered why he even bothered writing to me at all. Sometimes he even threatened not to write to me again, but he never made good on those threats.

I had always wondered if he was an angry kid. I wondered why he was always so mean. I never guessed that he had been faced with so much pain and loss at such a young age. I’m sad that I didn’t know any better. I wish I had been able to read between the lines and say something that might have comforted him. But maybe that would have ruined what we had.

“I’m getting a second opinion, but Luca, it’s not good news. People don’t survive pancreatic cancer. Even with chemotherapy, the prognosis isn’t good.”

I dip my fingertips in, feeling how wet I already am just from that kiss in the stairwell. I can still feel where his hands touched my waist, but now they’re moving lower, trailing down my hips and cupping my ass, his hand sliding between my legs and – ooh.

I look down as I unzip his pants, and just as I’m about to slide him into me, I look back up at his face. He’s not Jake anymore, but Luca, or at least what I imagine he might look like. I try to change the image in my head, but it’s too late. My clit begins to pulsate and I release my breath, riding my climax all the way to the top and back down slowly.

It’s been a while since I’ve allowed Luca to slip into my thoughts like this. I’m not sure what to do about it. I stare up at my ceiling, feeling oddly guilty about the man I kissed in the stairwell not long ago.

I had a beautiful woman who wanted to be my wife. The sex was still good, and for the most part we got along. Sometimes I wondered if the only reason our relationship was flawed was because I was afraid to commit to her. Maybe this was the push I needed.

Things were going nowhere with Naomi. I had held onto that fantasy for long enough. She had made it clear several times that she didn’t want to meet me. She liked writing mean letters, but she didn’t want me, and I was wasting my time believing that one day she would.

I knew that she had never promised me anything, and never gave me anything other than rude, disturbing, or funny letters, but it hurt that I hadn’t heard back from her yet.

As much as I want him, I know that I need to find a way to get Luca out of my head before I take things further with Jake.

I’ve never met anyone like him before. I’m starting to wonder where this guy has been all my life. I think of the last guy I went on a date with, who didn’t seem to think anything I said was funny. Then I think of Luca and all of the ridiculous letters we sent to each other over the years. I wonder what he’s like in real life. I wonder if we would get along like this. I put those thoughts away.

I shouldn’t be thinking of Luca when I’m having such a good time with Jake.

I was about to have a sex dream. About Luca.

“Oh, wow. That’s…” I want to say that it’s big, but I can tell by his smug smile that he already knows it. I take him in my hand and stroke him.

I gasp, climbing higher and higher, and I’m right on the verge of tipping over when Luca’s name slips out of my mouth. It comes out in a whispered moan, so distorted that even I don’t entirely understand myself. But I hear it. It’s the only sound in the otherwise quiet room, and I know that he hears it too, because his fingers stop moving. Shit.

He must have not understood me. He probably thought it was just a weird moan. He pushes the blanket off of me, and the next thing I know, he’s parting my legs wider and he’s inside of me.

“I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m missing out on something. I’ve been writing to Luca since fifth grade. Somehow, we both ended up in Miami. I’ve never believed in fate, but what if this is it? What if this is the universe telling me that I need to give him a chance?”

I’ve never met Luca and I don’t know what he’s really like. Besides, I already admitted that I’m falling for Jake. Unlike Luca, who has only ever been words on paper, Jake is real, and he’s here, and I know him.

I have so many questions, primarily about why the security guard in my building is acting as a middleman delivering letters between me and Luca.

“How do you know him?” I repeat. Again, he hesitates. He averts his gaze, choosing to look at the envelope rather than meet my eyes. “He’s my son,” he says.

I guess this is why he watches disapprovingly every time he sees me going out with Jake. He’s rooting for his son, and Jake is getting in the way.

“You’re Luca.” “Yes. I know that I should have told you⁠—” “Get out,”

“Jake Dubois is the other vet at the aquarium. I borrowed his scrubs once when mine got soiled taking care of an injured—” He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “It doesn’t matter. I didn’t mean to trick you. I didn’t realize his badge was on me.”

When I flew out to Miami, I hadn’t planned on forgiving Joel. I refused to even think of him as my dad. He had abandoned me and didn’t deserve the title. I didn’t plan to stay long. I only went because I wanted to talk to him face to face, to hear him try to explain why he thought he could waltz back into my life after all these years.

“I met a woman shortly after I moved to Montana. Cheryl. We got married and we had three kids together. Twin girls and a boy.” There were a few times over the years when I wondered if my dad had ever remarried or had another kid. When I was younger, when my family was still intact, I would have loved to have a brother or a sister. This wasn’t how I imagined it would happen.

“I have siblings,” I said. I thought that if I said it out loud, it would feel more real, but it didn’t.

I think about when she said my name while I was touching her in her bedroom in the middle of the night. I had thought in that moment that she knew who I was, but by the morning it was clear that she didn’t. I still think about it often. I wonder if I misheard her.

I fell in love with you, and I lost you.”

“How can you say that you fell in love with me? You barely even know me.”

“You’re wrong about that. I’ve known you for most of my life. Maybe it was just the idea of you at first. I thought that you had to be just as funny in real life as you were in your letters.”

“I fell so hard for you that I couldn’t even enjoy anyone else’s company, because I had already decided that you were the one. I tried to tell myself that I was holding you up on a pedestal, that you couldn’t be as funny, or beautiful, or amazing as I imagined you were. Before I came to Miami, I had convinced myself that I was wrong for thinking I could be in love with someone I had never met. And then I met you in person, and it turns out I was right. Everything that I thought I felt was real. I fell in love with you all over again.”

“It’s too bad you’re also just as mean in real life,” he says. “I guess I dodged a bullet.”

“You’ve always been so damn cocky, ever since we first started writing to each other. I kind of hoped that you would turn out to be an ugly troll, but … ugh. You must have felt so damn smug when you met me and all I wanted to do was jump your bones.”