LETTERS NEVER DELIVERED · Dorothy
Gideon,
I'm writing this down because every time I try to discuss something important with you, you say something outrageous, and somehow I forget what I was going to say.
Rosie has stolen my good pencil again. You built her so please explain why she has developed such an expensive preference for graphite.
The dates on three preservation records still don't agree. I checked the copies in the eastern archive. Remember, A record belongs where someone can actually find it.
I used to think this house was going to swallow me whole. All those gilded rooms, all the people who knew where to stand and what to call each other. I showed up ready to prove I deserved to be here.
I still intend to prove it, by the way. Those records aren't going to repair themselves.
But this morning Laurus remembered how I like my coffee. The birds followed me down the hall. And you were waiting beside the archive doors with that ridiculous expression you get when you're trying not to smile.
I realized I wasn't planning my exit anymore.
That's the important thing I wanted to say.
Meet me in the conservatory at nine. No retention watches, no stopping the rain, and absolutely no making an entire evening last ten minutes longer than it should.
Just show up.
Dorothy
P.S. If you call this a contract amendment, I am not having it.