I’m going to be honest with you—the whole thing was terrifying. Thank God I had my parents with me through it all, or I might not have survived watching my baby go through hell. And E, she was such a trouper, so brave and strong. She kept trying to comfort me. Imagine that—a two-year-old comforting a twenty-eight-year-old man. But that’s my girl. She’s amazing and full of love, and now, thanks to you, she’s in full remission and back to singing her nonsensical songs in her own particular language and dancing and playing and laughing. Her hair has grown back—curlier than ever—and her cheeks are pink again. Because of you.
I’ve never met you, and I love you like a member of my family. You are a member of my family. And when the required one-year waiting period is up, I hope we can meet and talk and share pictures, and you can see the life you saved for yourself.
Thank you. From the bottom of my grateful heart. Thank you. We love you.
Mr. A
I must’ve read that email a thousand times after I first received it and sobbed my way through the first, second and third reading of it. I was so moved by how his love for his child poured off the page. I’m going to be brutally honest here. I fell a little bit in love with him based on how he talked about his daughter. How could I not?
When I showed the email to Carmen and Dee, they had the same reaction. Dee said she actually swooned a little. Both of them cried.
Carmen, who’s madly in love with her pediatric neurosurgeon fiancé, Jason, didn’t completely freak out the way Dee did, but even Carmen agreed that Mr. A sounds dreamy.
It took me a couple of days, and several hundred more rereadings of his message, to settle myself enough to write back to him.
Dear Mr. A,
Your email touched me deeply.
No, you can’t say that! Why not? It did touch me deeply, and he should know that.
Ignoring my own internal dialogue, I poured my heart onto the page, refusing to give him anything less than he had given me. Until the one-year mark, we aren’t allowed to speak of anything more than the transplant and updates about the recipient’s condition. I can’t tell him, for example, that I’m from Miami with a large extended family or that I work at a free clinic in Little Havana. I checked, and I can tell him I’m a nurse, since it’s relevant to the transplant.
Your email touched me deeply. Hearing about your wonderful E reduced me to tears. I’m so, so glad to hear she’s doing well and is in remission. I’m a nurse, so I know what that means, and I share your elation that “our project” led to such happy results. I’m sure you’re being very careful with her in this first tender year, when you have to limit her exposure to others, but when you’re able to be out and about again, I’d love nothing more than to meet her and hug her and celebrate her return to good health. Thank you so much for sharing your joyful news with me, and I’ll look forward to hearing more from you when the time comes.
Sincerely,
Ms. M
I debated whether I should sign it Love, Ms. M, but in the end, I went with Sincerely.
Two days later, he wrote to me again.
Ms. M,
I forgot to ask if you suffered any ill effects from donating. I really hope not. Please let me know that when you get the chance, and I will definitely reach out with more as soon as I’m allowed to.
Love,
Mr. A
Dear Mr. A,
Other than a few bruises and some stiffness for a week or two, the procedure was relatively painless for me. It was a small price to pay to help save your little girl. I’d do it again in a second. Thank you for checking on me.
Love,
Ms. M
Yep, you read that right. The second time I went with Love. Because I already love this father and daughter I’ve never met. I love the way he talks about her and how grateful he is for what I did for them. I’ve read the emails we exchanged so many times, I have them memorized.
His last email was short and sweet.
Ms. M,
I’m so glad to hear the procedure was almost painless for you. I’ll definitely write more to you the minute I can. Promise.
Love,
Mr. A
The transplant was one year ago today. For six months, I’ve been telling myself it’s not possible to fall in love with someone because of a few emails. But try telling that to my overly involved heart. All I can think about is Mr. A and Miss E. My active imagination has spent hours wondering about them as I counted down to today. I’ve tried to keep as busy as I could, volunteering for extra shifts at the clinic and helping Carmen with her wedding plans, but there are still far too many hours in the day for my liking.
And yes, I’m fully aware of how ridiculous it is to get all spun up over a guy I’ve never even met. I don’t even know his actual name, only his first initial. Is his name Alex or Anthony or Andrew? Is it possibly Asher, Adrian or Aidan? And little E, is she Emma or Emily or Emerson or Ellen?
I’m going to drive myself mad with the speculation. I want to know everything about both of them, and even realizing I might be setting myself up for a huge disappointment, I can’t stop myself from wondering if A is really as wonderful as he seems in his emails. Does he drink or party or chase women or—
“Stop it, Maria,” I tell myself as I drive home from the grocery store. I live in a garage apartment that belongs to Aunt Francesca and Uncle Domenic, my dad’s sister and brother-in-law. Thankfully, my aunt and uncle also rent out the main house, so they aren’t around to clock my comings and goings.
I never would’ve lived here if they were right next door. Not that I don’t adore them. I absolutely do, but I don’t want anyone keeping tabs on me—or reporting to my parents about what time I get home or who I go out with. No, thanks. I love my cozy little place, but more than anything, I love the privacy. A couple of years ago, Dee moved to New York City with our cousin Domenic Junior, both of them eager to leave the clutches of the tight-knit family that spends far too much time minding each other’s business.
I can’t wait to see them both at Carmen’s wedding, which is now just over a month away. It’s been very difficult to stay focused on work and the wedding or anything other than hearing more from Mr. A as I counted down to the one-year mark.
It feels like ten years have passed since that first email from Mr. A, six months ago today. When I get home, I put my groceries away and fix myself a cup of tea before I allow myself to sit at my desk and fire up my laptop to check my email. Mixed into junk mail and a note from my sister with a link to an article on home decorating she thought I’d enjoy is a message from a name that’s familiar to me, but I can’t say why.
Austin Jacobs.
I click to open the message and gasp as I read the opening.
Dear Maria,
I thought today would never arrive.
Chapter 2
MARIA
Holy shit. His name is Austin. Austin Jacobs. Why do I know that name? It nags at me that I recognize his name, but I can’t take the time to figure that out now when there’s a whole email from him to be devoured.