Chapter Text
Amalia laid comfortably wrapped in the warm green blanket that adorned her bed. Reluctantly, she pried open her eyes. As her gaze landed on the window to her bedroom, her first thought was that the window looked wrong. It was far too big to be that of her bedroom and it's drapes were blue. Hers were a golden colour.
All of a sudden her brain supplied her with the events of the previous night; the happiness, the wedding ceremony, and of course the surprisingly long time it took to retrieve her shoe from her little niece. All in all, last night had been magical, just as she had hoped it would be.
For a second she considered rolling over and going back to sleep. That was until she noticed a lack of a certain tall book-lover in her bed. Where had Her husband gone? Without hesitation, Amalia rolled over to find a white piece of paper, the same kind Georg had used when he wrote her letters, folded neatly into quarters on the pillow where his head should have been. Amalia reached an arm to grab it and unfolded it quickly.
"Dear friend," it read. The titled forced her mouth to curl into a smile.
"In our hurry to arrive at our new home, it appears that we seem to have forgotten to buy food for breakfast. I didn't want to wake you, but I'll be home in a few moments.
Yours,
Georg."
Just after the letter was read, Amalia heard the door to their apartment creak open and the footsteps of someone who was trying to be quiet. Amalia slid out of bed and pulled on some socks, tightened the belt of her pink pyjamas and slid out into one of the two other rooms of the apartment which made up both the dining room and the kitchen. As she crossed the doorway, she saw her husband's silhouette.
"Good morning, love," Amalia said as she made hew way towards the counter were Georg was unloading the bread and eggs he had obtained for that morning's breakfast. Georg jumped a little, surprised.
"Good morning, sweetheart," he said as he pulled her in for a short but sweet kiss. As he pulled away he asked, "Did I wake you?"
"No, but it isn't awfully reassuring to wake up the day after one's wedding to find one's husband missing," she replied good-naturedly.
"Ah, but I come bearing gifts," he said as he motioned to the food on the counter. "After all, what fun would it be if we starved."
Amalia pretended to contemplate this for a moment.
"No, I suppose it wouldn't be much fun at all, would it?" She glanced at the food. "So what is it you propose for breakfast?"
"I was thinking some bundáskenyér," he replied. It was after all one of the few thing he knew he could cook without burning the house down.
"Sounds lovely," his wife replied. "I'll change and be right back."
Some days later, once the couple had returned to work, Georg was the first to arrive home as Amalia had left to go to a boutique with Ilona. As he slid his key into the door and turned the deadbolt, he tried to think of what he would prepare himself for dinner. Though he and Amalia had stocked up on more food since the night of their wedding, Georg knew that he could still only make very few recipes with what was there.
The first thing he noticed when he got into the room was a pink piece of paper, the kind Amalia used to use to write him letters, sitting on the small table. He crossed the room in few strides and read the note:
"Dear friend,
I left some of the leftovers in the refrigerator. Oh, and please remember to start the laundry!
Yours,
Amalia."
He shook his head. How had she ever become so prepared?
Not long after the first two instances of letter-writing did Amalia and Georg begin leaving letters all over their apartment.
One of the more memorable ones was when the newlyweds were trying to decide whose family they would spend Easter with.
"Georg! Easter has always been one of the mist important holidays in my family! All of the children will be there for dinner and I will never hear the end of it from my mother if we aren't in attendance!" Amalia argued as she stood by the dining room table. Georg abandoned the pan that he had been scraping to turn to look at her.
"And tradition is so la-dee-da in my family! You know my great aunt still refuses to talk to me after I missed Christmas Eve last year to be with you and your mother!" Georg responded with the vigour Amalia has spoken to him with.
"Well maybe if you had shown a little courage and didn't lie to me about being Dear Friend for two weeks we could have spent it with your family!" Amalia replied. Georg just fumed for a minute, and turned to grab his coat. With the wind taken out of her sails, Amalia asked, "Where are you going?"
"Out, Amalia," he responded instantaneously. "Your cowardly, pathetic excuse for a husband needs to get some fresh air."
"Georg wai-" but her protest came too late, he had already closed the door. Amalia, at a loss for what to do, dug out her favourite pink notepad and a pencil.
"Dear friend," she started.
It was three hours later when Georg finally returned home. Amalia had finished the dishes, stored away their leftovers and dressed herself for bed. She knew that once she and Georg finished having it out, she would have no more energy and would not feel like doing anything. At a loss for another task to occupy her, she sat in bed with the lamp on her night table on reading Anna Karenina. Well, perhaps read was not the right term. She stared at the same page while trying to think about what she would say to Georg when he got home. It wasn't her style to back down, but she though her letter may help smooth matters over. So, even though she had just heard him come into the apartment, she would leave him be for the time being.
As Georg stumbled into the apartment he thought about what an idiot he was. Yes, he was angry, but he knew that Amalia had had important people, namely her father, leave without so much as an explanation. He shouldn't have left in the middle of the fight, of that much he was sure. He had certainly just guaranteed that Amalia would be infinitely more angry at him, and pro label more than a little hurt at his action. Honestly, he couldn't find it in himself to blame her. Ugh, why must he be so hotheaded?
As he walked to the hatstand to hang up his hat, Georg noticed the pink slip on the small table. He picked it up.
"Dear friend," he read. That was good, he figured. He knew he would only be in the greatest form of trouble when Amalia began addressing him in letters as Georg.
"Dear friend,
I am so sorry about this evening. I should not have used your reaction to the surprising news that we were in love as a tool to hurt you. We do, however, still need to finish talking. Meet me in bed.
Yours,
Amalia."
Georg moved quickly across the kitchen to their bedroom. When he poked his head in, Amalia was already setting down her book. "Sweetheart..." He began.
"You left," she interjected. "You promised you wouldn't."
And he had. On one of the dates that he and she had had before their wedding, she had told him about her father who had decided that it was far too much work for a young man such a s himself to support a wife and three children. It would be much more fun to go to dancing every night with a different partner. Georg had promised her then that he wouldn't leave.
"But I came back. And I'm sorry," he said. He walked closer to his wife and sat on top of the covers fully clothed as he wrapped an arm around her slim shoulders. Despite her anger, she still sought out his comfort and leaned her head on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, too for calling you a coward. You aren't. Really," she said quietly.
"I know," he said.
"I wasn't sure you were going to come back," Amalia said in a voice that was barely above a whisper. She gave the impression of being a scared child.
"Dear friend," Georg started as he gave her a peck on the forehead. "I will always come back."
The two sat like that until the sun filtered into their room.
And letters, just like their love, were always to be found in their own little home. Some were sweet and silly and some were heartfelt, but all reminded them that they were loved no matter what.