Dear Lindsey,

you forgot a pair of socks. I think you should come back for them. Probably sooner rather than later because you know what Tula does with pairs of socks. And then you should take your shoes off and put your feet in the socks and get them warm and put them on the table and sit on our couch in the sun – even though it’s cold outside, the sun through the window makes it seem warmer. And then I’ll get the salsa out of the fridge that your parents brought from Texas because it’s the best salsa in the world and we’ll eat it with the chips and watch a movie and drink boxed wine even though it’s only 10 a.m. And then you’ll go off to your cave room and even though we won’t see each other for a few hours I’ll still know that you’re here anyway and your car will be outside or you’ll be at Target looking for tights. And then you’ll come back and make edamame for dinner. And pat and I will make fun of you because your leftover Chinese food smells like farts and you’ll ask me to change all your light bulbs and nail holes in your wall and hang shelves and yes, you look fine and no don’t go change your outfit again and when you’re working late we’ll leave the front porch light on and I’ll even light your bedside lamp to keep your pillows warm.

I lied about the socks. I haven’t found any yet. But I’ll keep looking – there has to be something somewhere.



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