The next morning, it seemed like an eternity before my computer booted up. I had literally rolled over in bed and grabbed my laptop, and as the moments ticked by, I tried to convince myself that I didn’t really care if there was a letter or not.
I mean, it was perfectly normal to check your email before you even got out of bed.
Once everything was connected, and feeling a little like Meg Ryan in You’ve Got Mail, I anxiously scanned through all the junk mail that had appeared in my inbox over night, until I saw that oh-so-familiar name.
Mario had returned.
E’ qualche giorno che non ci sentiamo, come stai?
(It’s been a few days since we’ve heard from each other. How are you?)
After that brief line that recognized the day of silence, Mario went on as usual, talking about life and vacation plans. No explanation, just friendly conversation.
It was all so very…normal.
I had to take a breath. My hyper emotional side was having a hey day with the content of the letter, while my rational side was calmly telling me to not worry. There was nothing to make a fuss about.
Those two sides were at war the whole day.
Luckily, by the time I was able to respond, the rational side was winning. My letter back to him was equally normal. I also acknowledged the break in communication, saying that it had been really good to hear from him, and then continued on as usual, responding to questions, talking about my own summer plans. Nothing out of the ordinary.
As much as I didn’t want to rock the boat, I knew now that I wasn’t going to be able to continue without having some sort of clear understanding about his intentions. The realization that missing one day could send me into emotional hyper drive was unexpected, yet extremely useful. For whatever strange reason, receiving a letter from Mario had turned into the highlight of my day. I couldn’t risk getting anymore emotionally involved without having some sort of assurance that he was feeling the same way.
The only problem was, how was I going to get that assurance?