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Dear Andrea,
My head has been absolutely killing me since we got back from having lunch three weeks ago. I blame you for that. Because the way you just forgave me instantly for what I did, and put your hand out on the table? That just bloody went and confirmed it all.
That I'm in love with you.
And I hate it, and it's horrible, and I can barely look at my phone and see your name lighting it up anymore without grinning like an absolute idiot, so thank you for ruining me.
Of course, I'm never going to be saying any of this to you. Absolutely no way, whatsoever.
But writing this out actually helps. Pretending I'm saying this all to you helps me stop feeling like a kettle that's about to boil over any second now.
Seriously, I can't deal with you and that stupid look you give me when you say something annoyingly gooey and emotional. You even did it back then, at Runway, twenty years ago. You've changed since then, but at the same time you're still you.
And I'm still swooning over you. Oh, did I mention that? That I had these stupid feelings even back then, too? No, I don't think I said that yet.
Well, there you are. I didn't realise it back then. I thought I was straight, believe it or not, so I had no idea why I felt that stupid fluttering around you, but all I knew was that I hated it with such a burning passion, so I did everything possible to push you away.
And alright, I'll admit it, I was a bit extreme with some of the things I said. I've never actually apologised for all that, have I? Well, good luck with getting me to say it, there's absolutely no way you're dragging that out of me. Just take it that all the times I take you out for brunch or buy you drinks, that's my way of making it up to you.
Because that's already embarrassing enough, never mind trying to find the way to say all of it out loud. I'm terrible at saying how I feel.
Which is exactly why I'm sitting at my desk writing this. I don't expect this to be a common occurrence, I think I'll just rip this up after I'm finished writing it and never do this ever again.
Still, though, this has actually helped.
And who knows, maybe one day I'll get the courage to give it to you.
No. Absolutely not.
Anyway, I think that's all. How do I end this, anyway? There's not much point in saying something stupid like "kind regards" when you'll never be reading it anyway.
With love?
No. Absolutely no way.
See you soon,
Emily
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Dear Andrea,
Well, here I am again. And once again, this is your fault. Your fault for actually remembering my birthday and giving me that bag.
I suppose remembering my birthday isn't exactly something out of the ordinary, maybe not to you, but to me, it's...
Why am I even writing this?
It's just that most of the men I've ever dated don't remember things like that, that's all.
And no, I didn't just compare you to men I've dated, shut it. I can already see your face with that mushy look.
And even other than the men I've dated, I've never really had that many friends. Remember Serena, from Runway? She's about the closest friend I've ever had.
Other than you.
You didn't see that.
But no, Serena and I don't talk that much anymore, and I haven't got many other friends. Nobody in my life can really see past my Ice Queen, Persona Non Grata personality.
But you can. And I loveathe you for it. It's stupid. I hate it.
Even back at Runway, when I tried repeatedly to push you away, you just kept trying to be nice to me. You'd chat to me, and try to make small talk, and I'd shut you down, and then you'd still come in and try the next morning.
It was seriously so stupid. You just never gave up. Even now, for some reason, you're still here. You haven't dropped me, not after I betrayed you with the whole debacle with Benji owning Runway.
Thats another thing that I'm making up to you by spending time with you, because if I were ever to have to say it out loud I think I'd shrivel up and die on the spot.
So what I'm trying to say is that I wasn't expecting you to remember. There's plenty of things you do that I don't expect, and there's plenty of things I expect you to do but you don't.
In all honesty, I'm still expecting you to just drop me and leave after I inevitably fuck up and say something stupid.
But you keep gently reassuring me that you won't. I think a part of you knows I'm afraid of that happening, because every now and then you'll touch my arm or brush my shoulder and say something about how you're here and you're not going anywhere.
I shove you off, or scoff, or roll my eyes but I love it.
I love when you laugh, when you smile, when you say something stupid that I pretend to hate.
I love y
Anyway, the kids are going to be home from school soon, so I'll wrap this up.
Bye for real this time, because I'm shoving this in my drawer with the other letter and never opening it again.
See you soon,
Emily
PS: No, those aren't tear stains. My desk was wet and I didn't realise it when I put the paper down on it.
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Dear Andrea,
I really need to stop doing this, don't I?
This is the last time, I swear. I know I said that with the previous letter but seriously, I mean it now.
It's just that today, when we went to the café and you mentioned being bisexual like it was the most casual thing in the fucking world, my heart literally skipped a beat, which sounds like something out of pathetic romcom, and I hate it.
I hate you for being so damn cute.
I hate you for being so considerate all the time.
I hate you for somehow always knowing how to make me smile when I want to tear someone apart.
I hate you for that smile, and those eyes, and that laugh.
I hate you.
I love you.
Okay, fine, I love you. There. Happy?
You better be, because I'm really tempted to scratch that out. It's ironic, really, that it's 8 letters and I can't bring myself to write them down let alone say them out loud.
I've never felt like this around someone, or been this scared to make a move.
So congratulations. You're destroying me every time you look at me. So I hope you're happy.
I know I am.
See you soon,
Emily
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Dear Andrea,
I wanted to kiss you today.
Well, now I'm trying really hard not to rip this into shreds. Seeing it written down makes it way worse.
But I did. I mean, I do everyday, but especially today.
We were literally just going out for a few drinks, you had no right to look that stunning.
It still baffles me that you're spending your time with me of all people. I know that you've broken up with the Australian guy, but you still have other friends.
I don't deserve you.
I really don't.
We're polar opposites, and yet you keep coming back. You're still here, when I'm me, when I'm Emily Charlton and I'm probably one of the most rude people you've ever met.
Anyway, this is the last one of these letters. I mean it this time.
See you soon,
Emily
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Dear Andy,
Happy anniversary!
Now that we've been dating for a year I don't exactly need to be writing this out. I'd like to think I've learned the ability to speak to you without my brain short-circuiting and my heart exploding.
(I haven't.)
I'm really struggling to believe it was a year ago that you found those letters when you agreed to help me clear out my house. (Because of course you did. I mentioned that it was something I needed to get around to doing and before I knew it you were on my bedroom floor with me. You're unbelievable.)
I really did think that I had totally lost you once and for all. That I had jinxed it and you'd finally leave me like I deserved.
And so when I came back from the bathroom and you were sitting on my bed with the letters in your hand, I think I almost died.
You just looked up at me with an unreadable expression and then I started bawling.
I know you were standing there telling me to breathe and calm down but I really couldn't hear any of it, because I was having a complete and utter panic attack right in front of you.
And no, don't go squealing and saying that it's because I was letting myself be vulnerable in front of you. It's just because I was terrified I was about to lose you.
Because I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
So I was crying, and then you just cupped my cheek, wiped my tears and kissed me.
I'm grinning like an idiot now, just like I did back then.
Do you know what you do to me?
I'd seen you look all mushy and soft about a million times before then, but never like that. You just whispered "I love you too" in the softest voice and then we were both crying through laughter.
And everything since then has been a blur. A year? I can't believe that.
But it's been the best year of my life, okay?
And yes, these are tear stains, I'll admit it this time.
Though I have a feeling there'll be even more tear stains after you read this.
With love,
Your Emily