CHAPTER 6: CHECK THE MAIL

So far, things are going according to plan. Everyone seems to like the dress. I've written a letter to my mom and sealed it, but I haven't sent it yet. I thought it would be more personal to write her a letter instead of just calling her. However, I'm holding off on calling her until she responds.

In the letter, I mentioned that I wanted to catch up with her and discuss the wedding dress, but I didn't reveal that I'm getting married or anything like that. I simply expressed my desire to have a conversation with her.

I need to send the letter today because it's Monday, and it's been only a week since I got engaged. The wedding is in less than seven weeks, so I want to get in touch with her soon. I plan to send it on my way to school.

I'm feeling nervous as I arrive at school, thinking about what her response might be. Fortunately, my first class is in the gym. It might sound strange, but I actually enjoy going to the gym. Just because I like going to the gym doesn't mean I fit the "jock" stereotype, nor am I a "nerd." My friend Maya and I made peace with these labels back in high school, finding them cliché.

We only have one more week of school left, but there are still things to do, mostly fun activities. Today, it looks like we'll be playing kickball, a game we only play when a substitute teacher doesn't have any other plans. It's still a favorite among us.

Now, let's talk about my nervousness. Going to the gym is enjoyable for me because it helps clear my mind. I have a tendency to forget things, but I can focus well when I'm drawing, cooking, or discussing topics that require deep thought. Like when I heard about a bet, for example.

When I'm on the move, it helps calm my nerves, which is why I enjoy running the bases during kickball. It also helped me cope when my mom moved out. After her departure, I used to run around the neighborhood. My dad wasn't too thrilled about it, always worried I might run away. However, that wasn't my intention; I just lost track of time, and running was the only thing that seemed to help at the time, until I discovered art class.

Fortunately, my team gets to kick first, and most of my gym classmates are enthusiastic about kickball. They give it their all. Both teams have a skilled kicker for football. Since he goes first, I position myself to catch the ball. I'm eager to run, so I don't stray too far.

The kicker aims left, and I make a move to catch the ball, but it rebounds off the wall. I quickly chase after it, veering away from the ball's path and then jumping or diving to catch it. The opposing team expresses their disappointment while my team cheers.

I'm the fourth kicker, and I have limited time on the field. I hope we don't get three outs in a row. Unfortunately, luck isn't on my side this time. Out. Out. Out. The first kicker got out on the first try. The second reached second base but was tagged out, and the third kicker hit a high ball that someone managed to catch. Because he didn't turn around quickly enough, the second kicker couldn't make it back to first base in time. So, it's a two-for-one situation.

I'm feeling really anxious, but I do my best to hide it, and I'm pretty good at it. I'm brainstorming ways to get out of this situation. We need to kick five times to get three outs, and there are already two runners on base.

I always strive to come out on top. Winning means as much to me as running does. You might think I'm the next one to kick, but you'd be wrong. I'm actually number 4 in line, again.

Now, all three of my teammates are on base, and it's my turn. We only have about five minutes left until we have to change, and we can win if I manage to kick a triple or better. I wish I could just sprint my way home.

As I step up to the plate, I prepare myself for the kick. The ball is coming at me at just the right speed, and I swing with all my might! It's not even close. Well, we're in a gym, so not literally "home run," but it's a home run metaphorically. My team wins, and I get to run all the way home.

For the rest of the day, I'm not as nervous. I feel great, and people stop asking about the wedding and just go with the flow. I don't have any more finals, and the last week of school seems promising.

...

"It seems like we won't even have to plan our own wedding," I tell Mark as we're at his apartment. We're discussing our "date night."

"Yes, my dad is taking care of everything. We only have to decide on the cake, rings, color scheme, and your dress," Mark mentions as he turns off the stove.

"Speaking of the dress, I sent out the letter," I confess.

"Really? How are you feeling about it?" Mark asks as he prepares our plates.

"Honestly..." I pause, and he encourages me with a nod. "I'm very nervous. What if she doesn't respond, or she doesn't want to see me, or..." Mark interrupts my worries.

"Don't think like that. It's going to be okay," he reassures me, putting his arm around me as we start eating the meal he cooked for us.

There's a brief awkward silence before I ask, "So, when can I meet your mom?"

Mark appears slightly uneasy at first but then relaxes. "My, uh, mom passed away nine years ago," he shares. "Please don't look sad."

"Oh, Mark, I'm sorry for not knowing," I respond apologetically.

"It's alright. Almost no one knows. My mom didn't enjoy being in the spotlight, so she kept a low profile. My dad asked almost everyone not to discuss it. She was mentioned in the newspaper, but not on the front page," he explains, taking a deep breath and managing a small smile. "I think she would have liked you."

This brings a little smile to my face. "If you don't mind me asking, how did she pass away?" I inquire, immediately feeling guilty for asking.

"It was cancer. Specifically, lung cancer," Mark answers. I feel a pang of empathy as I hear this. I've been through a similar situation before.

"I'm so sorry," I say sincerely.

"It's okay. You were just curious," Mark reassures me.

"You know what they say," I quip, trying to lighten the mood. "Curiosity killed the cat." I manage to make him chuckle a bit.

…

"Beep, beep, beep" – The sound is annoying, and it's making me lose my temper. I shout for someone to stop it, but I don't know who I'm yelling at. Something feels off about me. I usually don't struggle to wake up in the morning.

I'm getting ready for the day, thinking about what to wear. It's Wednesday, and I remember the famous line from Mean Girls: "On Wednesdays, we wear pink." So, I decide to wear a bit of pink – just a pink shirt under my leather jacket and dark blue jeans.

Downstairs, my dad is having coffee and reading the newspaper. I give him a quick kiss and say goodbye. He tells me to have a good day and expresses his love for me. I reciprocate and head out the door with an orange in hand.

The school day is okay. I had fun playing dodgeball, even though I didn't get to run as much as I wanted. The other classes are not very important.

After having lunch with Maya, we went shopping for bridesmaid dresses. Charlie, who's actually a guy, is my Maid of Honor because he's a great friend. Maya is a bridesmaid because she's like a sister to Mark's cousin, who's the only other person invited.

My favorite class is math because it's easy, and I can finish my work without needing homework. I also get to draw most of the time. Mr. Martian, the teacher, doesn't pay as much attention to me as before, but that's fine with me. I'm currently practicing drawing people from the shoulders up with strong contrast and light highlights while waiting for the bell to ring.

When the class is about to end, I notice everyone getting ready to leave, so I know the bell rang. I say a polite farewell to Mr. Martian even though I'm not his biggest fan.

I return home to find Mark and John's cars already there. Since my dad didn't check the mail, I decide to do it. As I approach the front door, I spot a familiar name on an envelope, and it stops me in my tracks.

I rush inside, unable to contain my excitement. She replied! I don't check on Mark and John in the living room; I just place the letter with the rest of the mail and eagerly open it.

The letter reads, "Hey Yanna, I'm really glad you reached out to me. It's been a long time, and I've always hoped you would. I've thought a lot about what to say. First, I want to apologize. I shouldn't have left you like that." She didn't mention leaving her father, which I found interesting. She continued, "I still have the dress." I thought about our tradition and hoped it could bring us back together. It turned out I was right. Even though it's short notice, you and a friend should come to New York. I've sent two round-trip plane tickets. I can't make it, but I hope you'll come. Love, your mother."

When I open the envelope, I find two plane tickets. Just then, Dad, Mark, and John enter the kitchen.

"Dad, how was school today, kiddo?" my dad asks. Not knowing how to respond, I hand him the letter. Each of them takes a turn reading it. "Do you want to go?" Dad asks.

I nod. "Well, kind of."

"The plane departs on Thursday," John informs us.

"Yes, the plane leaves on Thursday," John reiterates.

"I'm aware. I'll leave school during lunch," I explain.

"You're not going to school," Dad objects, not wanting me to go.

"Dad, the last day of school is in two days. I'll be fine," I reassure him. He starts to say something but then stops and nods.

"I'll come along," Mark chimes in. "I heard," he says, looking at my dad. I can see how much pain my dad is in, and it makes me feel uneasy.

"Okay," I reply, surprised at how quickly I agreed. But then again, I am getting married to Mark.

"Great, it's settled. Mark and Yanna are heading to New York the day after tomorrow," John announces, clapping his hands. "Well, I've got to go. I'll see you guys later."

As he leaves, I return to my dad. "I have to get back to work," he informs me before I can talk to him.

"Alright, see you later," I say, trying to sound as normal as possible as he walks away.

"Are you okay?" Mark asks, concerned about how my dad reacted.

"No, I could tell from the way he looked at me, the pain in his eyes. It almost made me cry," I admit.

"I'm sorry," Mark says, hugging me and trying to comfort me.

"For what?"

"I'm not sure, to be honest. I just felt like saying it," he explains, making me laugh.

"Thanks."