After being together for three months, we finally had sex. I hadn’t yet told you exactly
what it was that made me recede into myself when touchedcertain ways, but you didn’t push and
I stayed present the entire time. The streetlights’dull, orange glow bled through the sheer
curtains, and with every movement your face was eitherlost in shadows or illuminated with
sharp clarity. At one point I grazed over your sidewith my fingernails and you laughed into my
mouth. I made a point to accidentally do it a fewmore times. There was fumbling,
teeth-clashing, and some minor injuring, but it endedwith us in each other’s arms, neither feeling
the need to cover our bodies or move at all from thesweaty mess of a bed. We only got up when
Mr. Whiskers began pawing at the door and goddamnit,you said, the little bastard’s going to
scratch all the paint off. When you opened the doorhe immediately sprinted away into the living
room, leaving behind flecks of blue paint in the doorway.We repainted it together a few weeks
later. I put our initials on the side of the doorthat faces the hinges because I thought it would be
stupid and cute but I forgot to tell you until now.
I am writing all of this down because you told mebeing an editor would be too boring,
that reading other people’s stories for the rest ofmy life wouldn’t cut it. So I’m trying to create
something of my own and right now I can’t think ofanything fictional. I hope you will not say
it’s too late and I hope it’s okay that I’m sendingyou these. You haven’t sent me any response
that says otherwise, but you haven’t sent me any responseat all. I understand.
12 September 1969 Pacific Terrace Hotel, 610 DiamondStreet, San Diego, CA 92109
Kate. I knew the subject of my mother would come upone way or another during the
course of our relationship, but half of me hoped itnever would. But it did, when we were talking
over sushi in that Chinese restaurant on 76th streetand you asked so casually what my mother