1

I HADN’T RECEIVED A letter from my father in over a month. Since it was rare for two weeks to pass without one, I assumed Carolyn was throwing them away as I had asked. I took note of this only because I had become completely obsessed with the mail. I had mailed the queries during the second week of April, and by the end of the month I had yet to receive a single reply. I tried forgetting about them but it was useless; they were all I could think about.

The mail was delivered at three o’clock every day. On the days Carolyn didn’t work, I’d call no later than 3:05.

“Hey you,” she answered on Friday, exactly three weeks from the day I had dropped them in the mail.

“Surely there has to be at least one letter today?” I said.

She opened the apartment door and I listened to her shoes thump down the steps. She opened the mailbox and then gasped.

“What?” I bellowed, jumping out of my seat.

“We definitely have replies!”

“You’re shitting me?”

“My god,” she said. “There are eight of them here.”

“All with my handwriting on them?”

“Yes. This is exciting as hell. Do you want me to open them?”

I sighed, dejected. “You can open them if you want. It doesn’t really matter.”

“What do you mean? Why?”

“If they bothered to send the envelope back, then it’s a rejection. If they were interested they would have emailed or called.”

“Well, then why do you bother including return envelopes?”

“Closure, my dear.”

“This process sucks.”

“That it does. Anyway, I’ll be home in two hours. Love you bunches.”

“Love you, too.”

I hung up. I had an hour and a half left of work. To hell with work. I removed the novel’s next section and began moving over it with a red pen. I wasn’t as disappointed by the rejections as I thought I’d be. So I had received eight letters on one day after not hearing a word for three weeks. So much for the steady stream of keeping fifteen in circulation. But that’s life. It gives you nothing and then all of a sudden it’s crammed up your ass just to let you know you haven’t been forgotten.

2

I entered the apartment a few days later and found Carolyn standing at the sink washing dishes, which she never did, and I was immediately suspicious in the way some women are when their significant other surprises them with flowers, believing they must be making amends for some wrong they’ve committed. It was Monday, the start of another infinitely long week. I went to the sink and kissed the nape of her neck.

“Mmm, thank you,” she said.

“How was your day?”

“It was okay. Yours?”

“Hell, as always.”