The struggle has been real with this one, and I don't know if I really have done it justice. Let me know what you think.

Today was a day of waiting. Waiting, after a night of no sleep, for an hour appropriate enough to go to work. Waiting for the workday to pass so that we could meet with Joey and Caitlyn, and waiting for Oliver's reckoning with Holly. We all tried to be productive, if only to get my mind off all that this night might bring, but I don't think that the USPS got their money's worth out of the DLO staff today. I was hopeless, Norman seemed distracted, and Oliver was lost in contemplation somewhere.

But before I get to the most important and wonderful part, I must recount the rest that this day brought.

I don't know why I climbed the scaffolding. Perhaps I was hiding, or perhaps I was hoping it would give me perspective? Maybe it was privacy I was seeking? Whatever the reason, I climbed up the scaffolding in heeled boots, stockings, and a skirt a little too short for this kind of exploration. My vantage point meant that as soon as Oliver entered the main floor, I saw him. He seemed a little lost, walking stiffly and seeming to almost not know where he should be going. When I called to him to join me in my not quite ivory tower, I thought that he would probably refuse. He definitely looked as though he was questioning the wisdom of joining me every step of the way.

Poor Oliver. He was like an automaton missing the piece that would make him run smoothly – his movements jerky and strange. My heart bled for him. Disconcerted and unsure is not something I had really seen from him before. Maybe the night he abandoned our dance showcase was the only other time I had seen him like this?

There were so many things that I wanted to say to him, but I couldn't. I still didn't know how he felt about Holly returning. Was he happy? Or angry? I was too afraid to attribute any emotion to him because what if it was only what I wanted to see, and not what was really there?

So we sat, in our little tower, discussing what Oliver was going to do. Oliver spoke of doing the right thing. I tried to be the supportive friend he needed at that moment, but I was also terrified. Surely to a man such as Oliver, repairing his marriage would be doing the right thing? He was hurting (as was I) and I wondered if stopping his hurt would intensify mine?

How appropriate that I should see a snowman on the way to the DLO today. Shaped by another's hands, he stood motionless, waiting until he thawed, and then melted. This then, was Oliver. I hadn't realised how tightly he kept a check on his feelings for Holly. Was he frightened that if he did unfreeze enough to tell her how he felt he would lose it completely? He never seemed to hold back when confronting me, so why did he not act to find out the state of his marriage until now?

I don't know how I knew, but I sensed that Oliver had so much that he had not forgiven Holly for. How could a woman be so self-involved that she could not see what she had done? Or maybe, she knew and that was why she stayed away? But now that Oliver was ready to forgive, what would that mean?

The interminable day ended, and Oliver left for his marital Waterloo. (Or was it mine?) Rita, Norman and I went to the comedy club to see Caitlyn and Joey. Norman was a wonder. One mention of Ramon, and he was provoked onto the stage and was simply marvellous! Who knew that Norman was a man with so many diverse specialist subjects? Southern Floridian beekeeping? Sacred relics of the Amish? Oh Norman!

Many of the people we meet through dead letters have their lives changed. I think that we do too. I admire Joey and Caitlyn so much, willing to make things work even when they are hard. But just at that moment, seeing how precious their story was, was devastating. What did Caity say? A funny thing happened on the way to (their) divorce…they fell back in love. When I heard that, I knew I couldn't stay. I should have left well enough alone. I should have minded my own business. But I had to know. Were Oliver and Holly going to fall back in love on the way to their divorce?

A wise person would have avoided The Mailbox Grille. But at that moment, I could not be wise. I had to know. So like a fool, I went where I had no business going, and my traitorous feet took me to a window where I could spy upon Oliver and Holly. What would Oliver have called it? Indulging my insatiable curiosity? This wasn't curiosity, this was confronting what scared me the most.

Then I saw it. Devastation in a moment. A kiss that blighted that little sprig of hope that I foolishly held on to. It was done, finished.

So I did I always do when things seem too hard – I ran. I ran back to the DLO to collect my things; I ran to the DLO to leave a note for Rita and Norman… and Oliver. I couldn't write a personised missive for him. I could not put into words how I felt. I ran with his favourite letter opener so that I would have a small piece of him with me. I ran, leaving my Dark of Night award so he would have a small piece of me.

I didn't run fast enough, however, and Rita and Norman saw my inelegant retreat. I had to tell these two lovely people to their faces that I was leaving them. I meant what I said to them though. At that moment I didn't feel like I belonged. Rita and Norman had each other, Oliver had Holly, and i? I had no one and could not stand the thought of existing alongside all of them, with, but apart. I thought I could be the good friend, the support, but it turns out, I could not. With a plea that only Rita understood – that they would not let nothing happen to them – I left Rita and Norman for what I thought was forever. How do you put that into a letter? I tried, but whatever I wrote would never say enough.

Dear Friends,

I can't tell you how much it has meant to me to spend this last year with all of you. It's funny what lessons I have learned about living by delivering a dead letter – about saying the things we mean and finding the right words to say them. But somehow, I can't seem to find the right words to explain what I'm saying.

Goodbye.

Just know it's for the best.

Perhaps walking through the city at night was not the safest thing I could have done, but all I could think about was running. I needed to get home, lock myself away and cry. I didn't feel the snow, or the cold. I didn't notice the weight of the archive box I carried, or the discomfort my unsensible footwear caused. I don't think I felt anything.

Walking through my gate and seeing the figure on my porch was the first time I considered that I had not been completely sensible. Taking the letter opener in hand, I made my way up the stairs, ready to confront whatever or whoever was on my porch.

It was Oliver on my porch. Oliver and yard furniture? Oliver and accusations about self-terminating whenever I couldn't control a situation. Married Oliver who I had just seen kissing his wife. My section leader Oliver who wanted me to stay in a professional capacity.

Then suddenly, the snow and bitter weather lost their bite. My heart began to heal just a little. Oliver's wife returned to Paris. He had removed his wedding ring. Holding his hand, ostensibly in order to check that his ring was gone, but really for the secret joy of holding on to him, I asked how he felt, and what he did upon her departure.

Do you know what he told me he did? He said he went out and bought a porch swing. We sat there together, in the cold, talking but not touching, both too afraid to do anything that might shatter whatever this new state was. He didn't stay long – it was late and both of us were a little awkward. There was no good night kiss (as much as I at least wished there was) and I was still 'Ms McInerney', but still, considering all of the turmoil that this day contained, none of this mattered.


It is now ridiculously late, but I cannot seem to settle. I don't want to go to bed, for that would mean that this day is over. And how could I want something as momentous as this day to be done?

He bought me a porch swing!

I mean, I may have attempted to dispatch him with his own (stolen) letter-opener, but he bought me a porch swing!

The first crocus appeared, and spring is coming, but he bought me a porch swing!

He bought me a porch swing!

P.S. Okay, I am deliriously happy, sleep-deprived, and overwrought; but after starfish-ing on my bed and kicking my feet, not to mention squealing like I was twelve, then lying in bed smiling for a good half an hour, I have had to get up to add a little post-script. Oh how I wish I had been there to see Oliver having to explain his actions to a couple of police officers! Was it a four or even five-bounce explanation do we think?

P.P.S. He bought me a porch swing!