Chapter 43

Good-bye to Domus Jefferson Celebration

Noah went to bed Monday night praying for one thing: overcast skies. When he woke up in his apartment on the morning of September 27 and looked out the window, he wasn’t disappointed. Threatening clouds, no sign of the sun, and a gloomy weather forecast.

He sent a text to Rachel before he’d even climbed out of bed.

Noah: morning!

Rachel: Hey you.

Noah: at work?

Rachel: Home.

Noah: :)

Rachel: What are you up to?

Noah: nothing, why?

Rachel: Team wouldn’t let me come in today.

Noah: weird

Noah: everything ok?

Rachel: Boss says I need a day off.

Noah: :)

Noah: i have something for you

Noah: bring it by?

Noah: that ok?

Rachel: Sure. See you soon.

Noah showered, shaved, packed a bag with enough clothes for a few days, and reread his letter to Rachel, rewritten a final time the night before in a booth at IHOP. Before licking and sealing the envelope, he had included a napkin drawing, also created over pecan pancakes and chocolate milk.

With the painting A&P generously commissioned framed, doubled boxed, and loaded in his truck, Noah drove to Rachel’s apartment and parked in the closest open visitors’ space, almost two full buildings away. He looked in the rearview mirror and checked his hair and teeth. Then he picked up the envelope from the passenger’s seat and stepped out of the truck.

The walk to her door felt like a mile hike with a fifty-pound pack. He said hello to a couple leaving their apartment and nodded at a woman getting in her Smart Car. He carried the letter in one hand, wishing he’d thought to bring flowers or another stuffed squirrel as well. At the bottom of the stairs he actually considered leaving again to visit the closest florist. The thought flew away and was replaced by fresh nerves.

He rang the bell and waited so long he wondered if Rachel had left. He rang it again.

Finally the door opened and there stood Rachel in jeans and a T-shirt that read, i took the pledge.

Noah thrust the letter at her. “Don’t say anything, not even hello. Just stand there for a second.” He marveled at how beautiful she was even without makeup, even wearing something she’d yanked from the drier. He tried not to count how many times he’d missed seeing her in recent weeks.

“Read this. Not now, not until I’m gone. But read it. It’s not long. It’s my first Monday Letter. Whether I see you later today or not, I’m going to write you one next Monday, too. And the Monday after that. Writing is not as easy for me, and maybe it’s silly and childish, but here it is. It’s a start. It’s my start.”

She held the envelope in her hands and turned it over and over again.

Noah looked into her eyes and craved a moment like all those he’d seen in the romantic comedies she’d made him sit through or like a scene in one of her guilty-pleasure novels. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her, or for her to do the same to him.

Neither did. Instead he pointed at the letter and said simply, “Read the letter. Check the weather.” Then he spun on his heel and dashed down the stairs before his heart could win an argument with reason.

Rachel whispered a good-bye, shut the door, and sat at her kitchen table.

• • •

September 26, 2011
Dear Rachel,

I’ve lost count which draft this is. Let’s just say there have been a lot. Some long. Some short. All of them lame. Until now, right? If you’re reading this then I’ve decided it’s finally worth giving to you.

For a long time after you called us off, or called off the wedding, or postponed the wedding, or whatever it all was, I tried to put myself in your shoes. I thought I needed to understand what you were going through to know why it was happening. I went from hurt to angry to hurt to confused to depressed and to confused again.

I know now how useless it all was. I will never know what you’ve been trying to deal with. I won’t. How can I? I feel dumb for thinking I could at all.

What I should have done is to tell you what my own experience is instead of trying to get inside yours. I told you back at my folks’ place that my grandma Laurel had been attacked. Not just assaulted or beaten up. She was raped by a sick man high on drugs. It happened when my grandpa was out of town, and she didn’t tell him right away. She was confused, too. And scared. She found out she was pregnant and she had the baby, but she didn’t tell Grandpa about the attack for a year. I guess only she knows exactly why.

I think you figured this, but that baby was my dad. Yes. My dad came of that. The man went to jail and became a pastor. He even came to my grandparents’ funeral. But that’s another story.

When my dad found all this out, he felt like he didn’t know who he was anymore. He and my mom got married, but Dad had it tough for a while. Anyone would. He was depressed and felt guilty for not getting along better with my grandpa when he was alive.

It took time, a lot of time, but my mom and dad got through the worst of it. He started to understand that he didn’t have to be anything he didn’t want to be. He made his life. Not his history. He told me when I was a kid that history is dangerous if you pay too much attention to it, because tomorrow hasn’t happened yet.

Tomorrow hasn’t happened yet, Rachel. You decide what happens tomorrow—not your mother, not Daniel, not your biological father, not your boss. Not even me. Just you. You decide what tomorrow’s history will look like.

When I set out to write this letter I wanted you to know how perfect we are for each other. I thought you would read this and think God meant for us to find each other in a world of ten billion people. But that’s a lie.

You’ll find someone else if you want to. Someone special who maybe will treat you better than I do. Someone smarter, someone richer, maybe even someone better looking. (Though I doubt that last one.)

I could do the same thing. I’ll start looking at other girls again at some point in time. One of them will catch my eye and maybe it’ll be her, or maybe it’ll be the next one, or maybe it’ll be after ten more girls that I’ll give someone a ring and we’ll make a happy life. Just like you did with your life.

But why? I don’t want to settle, even though I could. I don’t want you to settle either, even though guys will line up for the chance to be with you. Sure we could be happy with other people, but why?

You’re my best friend, and I want to be married to my best friend. I want to argue about how cold the house should be in the summer. I want you to be there when I give my Caldecott acceptance speech. I want to sleep on the couch when you get mad at me for saying something stupid, because trust me, I will say something stupid.

Being together is going to be a lot of work. But it’s a job I want. And it’s a job I’m qualified for because I love you.

Love is a choice and I choose to love you.

Forgiveness is a choice, too, and we’ll need to do a lot of it to make a life work.

How much do I love you?

If you asked me to never paint again, I’d stop.

If you asked me to move to the Arctic, I would.

If you asked me to walk to the ends of the earth for your favorite flavor of ice cream, I’d ask what time you needed me home.

Rachel, you are the same person today that you were the day I met you. Your mother is the same person today as the day she had you, as the day she left Kansas City with you, as the day she met Daniel, as the day she told you the truth. The soul doesn’t change, just our understanding of it.

Rachel, nothing about yesterday matters. Even this letter, if I fail to honor it, means nothing down the road. All that matters right now is today. And today I want to marry you.

Go outside and look up. Then imagine where I am, where I’m going, and where I’ve always been. Whether you see me or not, I’m here.

I love you, Rachel Kaplan.

Noah