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Dearest E,

Seasons greetings! Can you believe it’s been a year since we last corresponded? I was so looking forward to your card; once again, you delivered! Those little preppies of yours do make for the cutest subjects. Remind me again their ages?

How is the McManse? Palaces do make the suburbs more bearable.

B. looks well. Any ribald gossip about him?

…I didn’t think so.

I do have some sad news. My mom, “Mrs. ‎Jillian” as you fondly named her, died this summer. I didn’t tell you because— well, I didn’t tell anyone. Mostly they just— found out. And because your grapevine is unconnected to all my other grapevines, I suppose the news never reached you. I’m sorry. I know you are too.

I’ve been, by and large, okay. Stiff upper lipping and other WASP-y whatnots. Last week I cried because everybody forgot my birthday (it fell close in time to her Celebration of Life in August). A chocolate pastry was the trigger. “I never get the cake I like!” I sobbed. “Lemon or orange poundcake!” Grief manifests in the strangest of ways.

N.’s been terrific. Today, he surprised me with a citrusy confection that you too would cherish. I’ve enclosed a photo.

2018 will be our year.

Merry Merry!

Jillian Conochan

Jillian Conochan is a professional amateur; writing and editing just happen to be two current pursuits. Opinion range: strong to DNGAF.

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