Josh Allan

The Gift

Dear Frieda, I received your gift. Some weeks ago, in fact. I hate to think you’ve been pacing that cramped kitchen of yours all this time, worrying that the postman had misplaced it, or that you’d misremembered my – our – address. But the truth is that ever since I received your gift I haven’t known what to say. How ironic, you must be thinking, reading this letter with your coffee (black) and yoghurt (plain), perched over your noguchi table. How ironic that you, Julian, who have written me daily since our divorce only two months ago, should lay aside your pen the moment I finally reply… But how could I answer such a thoughtful present with a simple Thank you, Frieda; just what the doctor ordered? Even when I had landed upon a response, I needed a suitable gift to give back. So there it is, on the doorstep (I doubt you’ve brought it inside). Just promise me you’ll read this before you open that.