Fortuity (Transcend 3)

Sincerely,

Gracelyn

I mail the letter the next morning after dropping Gabe off at school. And I wait …

I post pictures and videos from Gabe’s soccer games. Morgan comments on all of them. She posts pictures and videos with friends and from her aunt’s wedding. She was a junior bridesmaid. I show a heart reaction but rarely comment unless it’s a picture in her house. Then I mention things like “Love the paint color you chose for your room!” or “New beanbag chair?”

Nate indulges her with more selfies together, and those are my favorites. I never comment, but I hit the heart button so fast I can barely keep my hand from shaking. He’s growing out a beard, and it looks so damn sexy, gray and all.

I haven’t brought myself to post a selfie, even though I’ve taken a million, used filters to soften my freckles and wrinkles, and even applied makeup, beyond just lip gloss, a few times. It feels too “see me, look at me” when the person in the world I want most to see me won’t even drop me a letter.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Nathaniel

“Oh my gosh! It’s snowing! Can we buy a sled? Can we go skiing? Where are our ice skates?” Morgan jumps on to my bed.

I pull the covers over my head, which only doubles her efforts to get a reaction out of me.

“Daaad!”

“School. You have school. And it’s a dusting of snow. It will melt by noon.”

She straddles my body and yanks the covers away from my head. Her lips turn downward into an exaggerated frown. “What can I do for you?” She steals my line.

I say the same thing to her when she has her period or something goes wrong at school. Navigating her new way of life, her ever changing personality, and hormones is not exactly easy. She loses it when I try to guess what’s wrong and solve her problems when I don’t even know them. So I’ve learned the best approach is a simple, “What can I do for you?”

I sit up so we’re nose to nose, and I grin. “Toaster waffles, extra butter, extra syrup. Juice. I’ll make the coffee.”

“Daaad …” She presses her hands to my cheeks.

I don’t get this kind of attention from her often. She has a phone and lots of friends now. Life changes.

“You miss her.”

I gather her hair up in back and smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Gracelyn. We’ve written like a hundred letters to each other …”

I raise an eyebrow.

She sighs. “Okay, not literally, but at least six. How many have you written to her?”

My lips twist.

“Zero!” She holds up her hand with her thumb and fingers together making a zero. “Why did you kiss her like you did … in the rain … if you’re not going to write her a letter?”

I release her hair and curl it behind her ears. “And what should I say if I write to her?”

The truth? I have no fucking clue, and that’s why I haven’t brought myself to do it. Well, not true. I’ve started dozens of letters, but they’ve all ended up in the shredder.

She rolls her eyes to the ceiling. “Hmm … maybe: My Dearest Gracelyn, the world is a dark place without you. I can still taste your lips on mine—”

“Whoa!” I grab her sides, making her jump. “What have you been reading? Where have you heard such things?”

Morgan giggles as I continue to tickle her. “Stop!” She wriggles out of my hold and jumps out of bed. My darling little girl looks adorable in her girly jeans with sequins on the back pockets and her pink (always pink) sweater. She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m serious. You have to send her a letter. I would be so mad if a boy kissed me like that and then ghosted me.”

“Ghosted you?”

She rolls her eyes. “God … you’re so old.”

I climb out of bed, slowly stretching my arms above my head. “You’re right. I am old, but not too old to dig a grave and bury any boy who tries to kiss you like that … or at all for that matter. Make yourself useful, go get those waffles put into the toaster.”

“Write her!” she yells as she stomps down the hallway of our three-bedroom ranch on a wooded cul-de-sac.

It’s not as big as the house I sold before traveling with Morgan, but it has plenty of room for the two of us, and it was recently completely renovated. The ceilings are tall, the exterior walls are mostly windows, and the floors are all newly refinished, light sapwood walnut.

After breakfast, I start my usual routine. Drop Morgan off at school. Work on editing my manuscript until noon. Exercise for an hour, which usually means a jog and a boot camp routine of push-ups, burpees, pull-ups, and sit-ups. Shower. Grab a sandwich. And hunker down in my office for the rest of the afternoon, working until it’s time to get Morgan.