I reread the letter four or five times before bursting out in laughter and rolling uncontrollably off my bed and onto the beige carpet of my floor. I continue to squirm and thrash before my bedroom door swings open with a significant bang. My mother is standing in the doorway observing my entertained state.
"Is everything all right?" she asks. "I heard a crash and thought you fell."
"Oh yeah," I manage to sputter out between fits of giggles, tears streaming down my face from the strength of my laughter. "Everything is fantastic!"
She rolls her eyes and turns and leaves my room shutting my door behind her. I can imagine her getting a concerned look on her face as she walks back to the kitchen. Maybe she thinks I've hit insanity now. Ha. Maybe I have. It's a strong possibility at this point. I mean, seriously. I stressed myself out over this letter, and this whole Quil situation, and it had such little substance to it. I recognize the fact that I could be purely delusional at this point, as I pull myself up from my horizontal position on the floor. I sit upright, leaning my back against the bed, flipping my wet hair up so that it doesn't soak my clothing.
I pick up the letter from it's fallen position on the floor, unfold it and read it once again. Then I stuff the piece of paper back into the envelope still laughing slightly to myself. I sit there with my legs stretched out in front of me, the envelope in my hands, my head leaned back onto the bed, and my eyes closed while I'm smiling. It was some kind of humorous sick joke. As I'm thinking of the letter again as I trace the outside of the envelope with my fingers, I snort, bursting out into laughter again. It's been a long time since I've laughed like this. Almost forever.
I stand up letting my wet hair slap against my back, beginning to get my clothes wet. After walking over to my desk and shove the letter in my junk drawer, I pull my hair up into a messy pony tail.
I work around the house all day, cleaning my room and preparing various things for the week ahead. My dad gives me a bunch of boxes to put into the spare bedroom so that I can start packing for college. After cleaning up the small room I start constructing boxes from their collapsed state and writing UCLA on the top of them. After about an hour I had filled a couple of boxes with clothes that I wouldn't wear until the fall, and blankets and bedding that would be accompanying me to my shoebox of a dorm room. As I sit down and start assembling yet another ugly brown box, my father slowly saunters into the spare room.
"So I hear from you're mother," he begins grabbing a box and sitting on the bed starting to construct it. "Quil had a little talk with you."
I nod my head only shrugging my shoulders. My father had never been a man of many words, he only stepped when he needed to put down a firm hand, or give male advice. Otherwise he liked to simply be a father, without allowing his words to affect me.
"You know Claire, I've known about this for very long time. I mean I had to. How else would Quil have been allowed to be near you all this time," he chuckles through his last statement. "But Claire, you've never been this quiet in you whole life. Although you're mom thinks you're close to insanity this morning, with the laughing fit you had, I knew you we're just trying to sort things out in your mind.
"What I'm getting at is something I want you to consider. It's my opinion and that's all it is, but I want you to hear it anyways. Just because something is meant to be, doesn't mean it's meant to be. Sometimes perfect matches simply fall apart, no matter what fate has to do with it. And sometimes like your mom and I, sometimes- the most incompatible people survive. But here's the catch, fate's got nothing to do with it, no matter how much Quil tells you it does. It's your choice. You're eighteen. I have no right in forbidding you to do anything anymore. I just want you to know that Quil isn't your only option. And no matter how much fate is telling you two to be together, maybe fate is wrong. Hell! It could be fate that fate is wrong."
"You have no idea how little sense that made to me," I say chuckling and trying to ease his tension. This speech is probably the longest he's ever given me, but it's not making any sense.
"Yeah, let me try to rephrase it," he says then exhales deeply. "What I'm saying I guess is- you have to leave fate out of it. Quil tells you he loves you. Do you act on that? If Quil told you that he liked you now, without all the imprinting stuff, would you have the same feelings back? That's what I want you to think about. I want you to think about how this whole thing would have turned out, if this imprinting thing didn't exist would you still be acting like this? Hmm?"
He leaves the room on that note, gently squeezing my shoulder as he passes me, leaving me with a half finished box. I sit staring at the spot he just left for minutes thinking about what he had just asked me.
I really don't know what embodies me at that moment. I quickly scatter myself up to a standing position and leave the spare bedroom. It's only a few paces to my bedroom where I walk straight over to my desk and open the drawer, and take out the letter. Within a minute I was downstairs, grabbing my car keys off the hook.
"Mom! Dad!" I call. "I'm going over to Emily's I'll be back soon."
I hear an approving 'okay' from the other room and I quickly get into my car tossing the letter onto the passenger's seat. I speed for the conditions. The roads are slick from the ever constant rain, but I'm a girl on a mission. I arrive at Emily's house in under five minutes. I hop out of my car quickly, grabbing the envelope containing the letter and stuffing it into my back pocket. I don't even bother with knocking when I enter the house. Emily's in the kitchen, making cookies for dessert with Laker and Tripp, and I'm sure she can tell from the look on my face that I want to talk.
"Claire," Emily says surprised. "We weren't expecting you."
"Yeah Emily could I talk to you for a minute, privately?" I ask quietly but directly. I smile weakly towards Laker and Trip, as I shove my hands into my pockets and hunch my shoulders.
"Boys why don't you two go upstairs and pick up your toys in your room. I want it clean when Aunt Rachel brings Kane over tomorrow," she instructs the boys as she take the cookie sheet and puts it in the oven. She sets the timer for the cookies before nodding her head for me to take a seat in a bar chairs at the counter. "So I hear from your mother that you had a moment of questionable sanity. And here you are less than twelve hours later."
Her face was too smug, but I had to roll with it. As I sit down in the green vinyl bar chair, I take out the letter and set it out on the counter, leaving my hand on top of it. "This was on my window sill," I pause. I really don't know what I was expecting myself to say to Emily once I got here.
"Okay," she says reaching out to take it, but I don't move my hand. Pulling back her hand slowly she looks over her shoulder.
"I thought I heard someone come in," Uncle Sam says coming into the kitchen. He opens one of the cupboards, takes out a glass, walks over to the sink and fills it with water. I assume he'd leave after this but he just leans back against the sink and drinks his water, the whole time staring at me. I shift in my chair uncomfortably and the vinyl squeaks underneath the changing weight. Uncle Sam catches my hesitance, and begins to walk back into his office.
"Wait," I say suddenly. Sam stops in his footsteps. I realize that I could and should potentially use him in this conversation too. "I could use your knowledge too."
He walks back over to his spot against the counter, this time he seems more intent on not only listening but contributing.
"I've been trying to think about this and distract myself from this at the same time and it's just not working. My friend Summer told me that the best way to make a decision is to learn all the facts. So here's what I need from you two. No advice or suggestions. I only need two things, confidentiality and facts. If you can't agree to those things then I can't talk with you guys," I say. I'm laying the law down. I don't want to make this about feelings. I only want to know facts.
"Sure," Emily says reassuringly when I look at her.
"Summer's a smart girl," he says simply, acknowledging the fact that I didn't come to the conclusion that I needed answers for myself, my friend helped me.
"Okay," I exhale deeply relaxing slightly. "Does this mean I have to be with Quil?"
Emily looks at Sam concerned. I know they heard the disgust in my voice from the idea of being attached to Quil in a romantic way. Sam seems resolved to answer the question as he notes that Emily seems physically and emotionally torn about an answer. "That's a very difficult answer to start out with, Claire," he says.
I give him a puzzled look.
"Well it's sort of an undefined answer. You see we don't know. There has never been an imprint who didn't simply love back. You would be the first," he continues setting his glass of water back on the counter and crossing his arms. His face appears torn as well. I can see he wants it to work out between me and Quil, but I'm not in the business of making other's happy.
"Ah, so cliché. It's complicated," I mock.
"No Claire, it's not like that. I guess it's better to explain it this way. Quil will be whoever you want him to be, friend or more than that," Sam finally resolves to telling me. I can tell he's reluctant giving me that answer.
"Fine."
"Claire," Emily begins seeming finally content to talk. "I never felt like was forced to love Sam. I thought he was nice, and he'd do anything for me. I fell in love with him despite being his imprint. Now I don't know if you can do that. I thought it was incredibly cool that he was made for me. But then again I guess I was always a sucker for romantic comedy's and soul mates."
Her little speech seems sincere, so now's the point where I decide to let them read the letter.
"Confidentiality, remember," I warn.
Emily picks up the envelope and opens it, slowly and carefully taking out the paper. Sam comes over to read over her shoulder.
"Claire," she begins to read. "I'll give you all the time you need to think. Quil."
I really couldn't help it. I knew this was going to happen. Every time I hear the words, my sides begin to shake. I burst out in violent laughter. Emily and Sam simply stare at me in horror.
"I was so worried about this whole thing," I manage to say between fits of laughter. "And-ha-oh my god! It's so terribly cliché I can't even handle it. Romance! Ha!"
"Claire," Sam says trying to calm me. " I talked to him. He's just letting you know that he doesn't want to badger you for an answer right this instant. He just doesn't want you avoiding him. That's the part that's killing him. Quil thinks he made you sad, which is making him sad, which is making him a pain in the ass to be around."
"I think it's cute," Emily says looking back at Sam, giving him a deep look. And there it is smacking me right in the face. Imprints and their werewolves showing how deeply in love they are with each other.
"Anyways," I say uncomfortably and they snap out of their love spell.
"Sorry, continue. What else could we help you with?" Emily says while Sam is still entranced into Emily's scars, tracing them with is fingers.
I clear my throat before I begin again. "When did Quil decide that he loved me more than just a kid, because there seems to be a clear distinction between being the big brother at my birthday parties, to being something more than that?"
"Uhh-" Sam began to stumble. "I don't know exactly when, but when you went to high school and you stopped seeing Quil, he went a little crazy. And then you went to that party- yeah I know about that- and that made him even more insane."
"Wait insane?" I suddenly question demanding an answer.
"By insane I mean you were-umm- growing up physically and mentally and guys were looking at you and it practically drove him crazy. We had to do all that was possible to keep him from telling you about imprinting then."
"What?" I ask.
"Well I instructed him to wait to tell you until you got out of high school. I didn't want him to become a distraction to your grades, or your friends. I wanted you to live normally for as long as possible without the worry of imprinting. Think about it. if he'd told you earlier, how would you have reacted?"
I exhale roughly, pull my elbows up onto the counter and rest my head in my hands. "What I'm trying to figure out, and I don't know if you can help me. I want to know, if -if," I stumble for the words. "If Quil just told me that he liked me, and didn't tell me about me being his imprint," I cringe away from the label, "would I like him? Would I have said yes to him if he just asked me out?"
Sam and Emily both smile. They seem amused to me. Then Emily says, "No neither of us can answer that for you, but it is what you're going to have to figure out for yourself."
"And I suggest you talk to Quil. Not only does he want to see you, but he'll be able to tell you anything. Plus it may help you find what you're searching for," Sam adds.
A significant clatter comes from down the hall in Laker and Tripp's bedroom followed by a scream. Emily rolls her eyes, and yells, "Boys!"
"I'll get them," she says to Sam kissing him lightly on the cheek and walking down the hall into her son's bedroom.
"You're right. Thanks," I say. I get up to leave, and Sam gives me a hug on the way out of the kitchen.
"Let's drive the speed limit this time Claire," he reminds me as I reach the door.
"Sam?" I call back over my shoulder on the way out.
"Hmmm?" he replies picking his head up to look at me.
"Do you want it to work out for me and Quil the same way it did for you and Emily?" I ask. This was what I wanted to ask the whole time but I didn't want Emily to hear.
"Of course I would love for you and Quil to be together, but it's not about what others want you to do. Quil put the choice in your hands. Therefore, I can only hope that your happy with it, because in return he will be happy with it."
"Thanks," I say and I leave out the door. If I'm going to talk to Quil, if I'm going to see him, I have to make up some ground rules for the conversation and I have to know what I'm going to ask. I have to prepare myself.
A/N: I'd like to give a special thanks to the real Summer who helped me rattle my brain as to what the letter would actually contain. I thought Quil wouldn't write some sappy long profession of a love letter. I thought he would be slightly pracitical for Claire, but for Sam he was being a jerk.
And for those who havn't noticed. Quil hasn't been in the story yet. That's because I needed to define claire's side first.
Also, if you don't actually notice. After taking like six to ten hours to write a chapter, I don't always edit them to the best of my ability. Please note any errors to me being simply human.
In addition, I always post recommendations for good books to read, so I would suggest adding The Last Lecture by Randy Pausch to your list if you havn't read it. It was simply amazing.