I love you to the moon and back!
Those who were lucky enough to receive notes would roll their eyes in exasperation, but they could never quite conceal their smiles. An undeniable glow of security seemed to emanate from their pores as they bit into peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches with the crusts thoughtfully cut off.
I am loved,their posture broadcasted smugly.My parents love me.
At the end of every lunch period, I’d watch those same kids crumple up their post-its and toss them away along with their granola bar wrappers and empty juice boxes. The temptation to fish them out of the garbage, simply to understand what I was missing, only faded as I moved on to middle school.
No one packs their lunch at a private academy.
Dearest Josephine,
By the time you read this, your father and I will be at 35,000 feet, halfway across the Atlantic. Though it pains us to leave you, we had no choice in the matter. A catastrophic packaging issue has arisen at our distribution center in Geneva. We must deal with it at once, otherwise risk delaying next month’s relief shipments.
I am certain you understand the importance of our trip, for we have raised you to value the lives of many over the happiness of one. On this, the first day of your eighteenth year, may you step into adulthood with all the poise and purpose we have instilled in you since your birth.
We will make every effort to return in time for your graduation next week. Until then, know we are in a state of utmost suspense, awaiting the brilliance of your valedictorian speech.
Happy birthday, darling.
Hugs!
Blair & Vincent Valentine
PS: There are several gifts awaiting you on the dining room table. We do hope you put them to good use in our absence. xx
My mother always signs her notes with their full names. It’s as though she’s preparing them for a future museum exhibit chronicling their lives, or perhaps a PBS special on the glorious existence of two modern-day saints.
Here, you’ll see correspondance between Blair Valentine and her daughter, written on Josephine’s eighteenth birthday. A tireless human rights advocate, Blair prioritized her work above even her own family obligations.
I hope I’m long dead by the time the powers-that-be determine our family’s historical relevance should be displayed behind glass.
When I set down the stationary, I’m immediately enveloped in a double embrace. Flora and Miguel hold me tight for far longer than five regimented seconds. Trying not to cry, I allow myself to bask in their warmth until my pulse slows its furious pace.
“Are you okay?” Flora asks when I finally pull back.
I wipe my eyes with the sleeve of my shirt. “Of course.”
“If you want, we can spend the day with you,” Miguel offers. “Maybe take you out for lunch at that pizza place you like—”
“No, that’s all right.” I force a stiff smile. “If anything, I should be grateful they were here as long as they were. Five full days, this time — that’s practically a record. And they’ll be back for graduation next week.”
I’m not sure whether I’m trying to convince them or myself.
Flora frowns. “But,mija—“
“I’m okay. I promise.” I take a deep breath. “Who cares about a stupid birthday, anyway? It’s just a regular old Saturday, as far as I’m concerned.”
Miguel crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re sure you don’t want to do anything to celebrate?”
My lips twist. “I have a speech to write.”
“You can’t sit alone, doing schoolwork on your birthday.” Flora’s brows pull together. “At least say you’ll come to the baseball game with us tonight.”
“State Championship.” Miguel nods. “Should be an intense game. Xaverian is also undefeated this season.”
“Oh, um…” I trail off, not knowing how to explain that seeing their son is the last way on earth I want to spend my birthday.
“Can you believe it’s Archer’s final high school game?” Flora plops down onto a stool, shaking her head in disbelief. “Next time he steps onto a pitching mound, he’ll be a collegiate athlete.”