Remembering Mr. Wright

I sit down, grabbing a glass of merlot, sipping it with a distant look in my eye. I try to push off the ache in my gut at the loss of Ben… and I keep reminding myself that it’s not a loss. I knew sooner than tonight that he wasn’t the one… but I’m closer to 35 than I was yesterday, and with each day I come closer, the more I seem to settle in every aspect of my life. Ben was just another example of settling… he wasn’t any of the things I really wanted, not when I really think about it. He was decent enough, with a decent enough sense of humor, with a decent enough job, and decent enough at… well, other things. But, since when was ‘decent enough’ really enough?

I scoff, shaking my head as my mom falls into the seat beside me. She may be my mom, but she’s also the truest friend I’ve ever known. The second I told her about Ben, she told me to come over, and now here I sit in the leather recliner sofa sipping wine, which I basically never do. “How you doing, honey?” she says, rubbing comforting circles on my back.

I sigh, leaning back in the recliner so I’m staring at the ceiling, trying to come up with the normal BS smiling excuse I give everyone else, ‘Oh, I’m fine. He wasn’t worth my time! The right guy is waiting out there!”

Before I can say even a word, though, she says, “Emma…” the warning tone that’s also filled with compassion, comes out full force.

I hum out a breath and force a sad little smile as I nod, “Yeah, I’m not great.” I shrug.

“It’s ok, honey. Mr. Right will come around one of these days.”

I roll my eyes, taking another heavy sip of the wine, feeling the velvety heat as it rushes down my throat. “Yeah, sure. Mr. Right.” I scoff.

Mom hesitates, I somehow hear it in her breath as she pulls it sharply in, “Do you remember me sharing the story of Robert Wright?”

I sort of chuckle, thinking she’s joking, but as I look over at her, I notice this far off look in her eyes, an affectionate smile on her lips. I shift in my seat, turning towards her, suddenly feeling like a little kid again ready for a story, “Um… I feel like I vaguely remember something from when I was a kid?” I offer, but the memory is distant and foggy in my mind.

She laughs softly, and it’s odd how in this moment, as she’s clearly thinking about her past, she looks a bit younger… like somehow this memory alone has transported her back in time. “Well… you remember how I told you I met Sam?”

“Jen’s dad?” I ask, remembering my sister’s father. Mom had been married to him for a few years, but I vaguely remembered she said that after their first date, someone else had sort of stolen her attention.

She nods, a gleeful glint in her eye, “Well, Sam and I had our first date, and it was decent. We had a good time—I think we were at a diner or something.” She chuckles, “And we decided to go ahead and have a second date, but we figured we would do a double date—him bringing one of his friends, and me bringing one of mine. Well, the date comes around, and Sam decided we’d all meet at a party.” She suddenly laughs, still looking off at that distant memory again, “Well, I brought my friend Ally, and he brought his friend Robert… Robert Wright.”

My eyes widen a little and I almost laugh, but the tender sparkle waiting in her gaze just reminds me this isn’t just pretend. “So… you literally knew a ‘Mr. Right’?”

She laughs then with a happy grin that wipes away all her years of worry, “Yes, I did.” She smiles back at me and lets out a lovesick sigh. “Well, once we all got to the party, Sam disappeared, and we basically didn’t see him again. Somehow Robert and I kept winding up together, and we found ourselves talking, laughing… and it was just… it was so natural.” She hums out a breath, closing her eyes as if savoring the memory, “And then, Ally decided she’d had enough of the politeness and started making out with him. He looked so shocked, glancing at me almost with regret, but then I left them to it. I tried to ignore that feeling of wishing I was her.” She shrugged with a smirk,

“Two weeks had passed, and I did well not to think about him, but then he showed up at my work—I think it was some local burger place—and I nearly dropped the cups I was stacking.” She offers an adorable giggle, grinning about it, “He asked me when I was off, and then he waited in the lobby for me… he waited two hours. When I finally came out, smelling of oil and spilled soda, he still managed to stand up like a gentleman as I sat down, and honestly said, ‘You look so beautiful Sarah…’” her eyes literally glowed then, and I found I was enthralled in her story. “And then, as we sat and talked, he admitted that the night we met… he didn’t actually know who his date was. He didn’t know he’d been brought for Ally… he… he said that the whole time, it was me in his eyes. And he said that he didn’t know it wasn’t me until Ally started kissing him. And he said that… he said that he’d fallen for me that night.” She leans back in her seat, eyes closed, an affectionate smile on her mouth.

“So, did you guys date more or anything? I mean… you really haven’t ever mentioned him before. Why…” I hesitate.

She nods, her smile softening to a somber lift of her lips, “Well, he was going to ship off to Hawaii in the marines two weeks later. So… the next two weeks, we just spent as much time together as possible.” She went into every detail, talking about the phone booth they waited in when the rain started to pour… and she told me about when they went skiing… and how he kissed her in the snow. “And then, at the end of the two weeks… he asked me to go with him to Hawaii.” I notice that her eyes go misty.

“You said yes, right?” I ask, utterly invested in this story.

She chuckles, shaking her head with a melancholy look on her face, “I said no.” I gaped at her, “And then he told me to get out of his car.” She laughed, and I felt like I’d missed the joke.

“Wait… he what?”

Her giggle was musical, “And I told him I would not get out. If he wanted me to get out, then he would take me home and then I’d go.” I find myself smiling in shock at her. This is a new side of her… or maybe it’s not, but somehow it feels new to me right now. “He didn’t end up taking me home though… we ended up going to the river and talking for hours more. He told me that he was afraid to leave me behind…” It was the first time her smile really faded, “He said that if I stayed, that I’d marry Sam. I remember scoffing at him, saying that I didn’t feel that way about Sam.”

My eyes widen then, pursing my lips and squinting at her, “But… um…”

She chuckles, “Yeah… I know. Somehow he knew what I didn’t. Well, eventually he took me home, kissed me goodbye, and… and that was the last time I saw him.”

“Ok… well… that can’t be the end though, right?” I plead.

Her eyes smiled at me then, “Well, about 8 months later—3 weeks before I was set to marry Sam…” again, I gasped and she just chuckled at me, but this time I noticed actual tears in her eyes, “I got a letter from him… and he included this beautiful poem, where he talked about us being at a cabin in winter, staring out a big window drinking cocoa, and then we looked at each other, as if we both knew exactly what the other was thinking… we smiled, and then looked back out the window.” Her eyes shimmered with hope, “It was just a poem… but somehow it took me back to late winter nights spent with Robert.” She huffed out a resigned breath, “And he said…” her voice seemed to catch as emotion started to overwhelm her, “I don’t fully remember what else he said in that letter, actually… just what it felt like to read his words on the page, my tears mixing with the ink.”

I knew the answer, of course… but I suddenly hoped that maybe the story must’ve been different than I remembered from this point on. “So… so did you call off the wedding? Did you go to him?” I ask with utter hope.

She clicks her tongue and breathes out one last sigh, shaking her head, “I got married…” she whispered, and her pain hurt me.

“Mom…” I whisper back.

“We were pen pals for 8 years. He would send me poetry, tell me the little things he was allowed to share about his time abroad, and it always gave me hope… though I don’t know what for…”

“So… you…” I’m surprised by the tears in my eyes as I sit at the edge of my seat, “So… what happened to him?”

She hesitates, smiling at me in that motherly, loving way that held such pain beneath her gaze, “I honestly don’t know. His last postcard to me, he shared where he’d be going after he left the service… but we were moving, and somehow the box of his letters, including the postcard, all disappeared. I couldn’t find them… and then years passed by without anything. Then, when I got my divorce, his final postcard suddenly was laying in the middle of my floor.”

I watch her with such mixed feelings. If she’d found him… he’d be in our lives right now. I’d have heard about him before now… but I haven’t. I don’t want the final answer to my final question, but I find myself asking it anyways, “Did you ever find him…?”

She’s quiet for awhile, tears finally trickling from her eyes, “I never did…”

I gape at her, “We’ve got to find him then!” I say instantly, ready to travel the world, searching this moment.

She chuckles, nodding, “Every time I tell that story, everyone always says that… not that I have to find him, but that we have to find him.” Her voice goes soft, reserved.

“So why haven’t you?” I whisper.

She huffs out a breath, “At one point, I called every Robert Wright in Hawaii, but none of them were him.” She admits.

We say nothing for a really long time. Finally, I break the silence, scoffing out a tearful breath. “Why that story… why now?”

She hesitates again, “He was the one that got away… and though it’s been 35 years, I still think of him and hope. I told you because… I want you to have this feeling—not of losing him. God, I don’t want you to feel that, honey…” she smiles, “But… the feeling of finding the right one… the one that is effortless. Everyone wants to find Mr. Right, and I think that’s why everyone wants to find Robert. When you find your one, though, I don’t want you to let him go… ok? Don’t settle.”

My eyes widen, a soft, sad smile brushing over my lips as she grabs my hand, “Ok mom…”