Sincerely, Arizona

Copyright Page

Dedication

Sincerely, Arizona

Sincerely, Arizona | Whitney G.

Sincerely, Arizona

**Note: This is not a standalone or a novel. It’s the previously unpublished epilogue to Sincerely, Carter, and the easiest way I could make sure as many readers as possible have it since I normally post things like this on my blog. :-)

PS—Yes, I will still post this on my blog 

PPS—This title will be officially released September 10
^th
.

Just friends.

We’re just friends.

No, wait. We’re no longer
just
best friends...

3
3. Wonderland

Arizona

The night of the diner incident...

“I loved you then. I love you now. And I always will...” Carter’s words were currently repeating themselves in my mind as he held me close.

With a smile on my lips, I replayed the past few hours of us in bed, how months of distance were easily erased. As Carter ran his fingers through my hair, I looked into his eyes—unsure of what to say. What to do next.

There had to be some exception about returning to the semester late, some special clause about having your best friend tell you he loves you and your world coming to a complete standstill.

Even if there wasn’t, I was tempted to call the dean of academics and ask.

I didn’t want to go back to France at all. I wanted to stay

“Are you okay?” He brushed a strand of hair out of my face.

I nodded. 

“Why are you so quiet, then? What are you thinking about?”

“France.”

He secured his arms around my waist and rolled me on top of him. “I’m taking you to the airport on time. As much as I’d like for you to, I won’t let you stay this time either.”

“What makes you think I would ever consider staying?” I asked. “I was just thinking about how I can’t wait to get back actually.”

“In that case, I can take you to the airport right now if you like.” His lips curved into a smirk and I rolled my eyes—unable to keep up that charade.

“Three and a half days...” I said softly. “I feel like I’ve already wasted most of my time here being mad at you.”

“No, you wasted it with Sean.”

––––––––

3
4. You Are In Love

Arizona

With the taste of pancake batter still on my lips and the sting of my recent tattoo on my arm, I hugged my mother days later. She’d been right; I’d nearly forgotten to stop by during my last few days. I’d been too busy trying to spend every second with Carter, to make up for lost time.

“I thought you hated wearing turtlenecks.” She looked me up and down. “Did you not pack enough clothes or something?”

“Unfortunately.” I blushed, thinking about the bright red hickeys that Carter had placed all over my neck hours earlier. “So, you can guilt me into coming over but you don’t want to ride along to see me off at the airport?”

“The first time was traumatic enough,” she said. “I experienced enough anxiety to last me a lifetime. No, thank you. I love you all the same though.”

I laughed and handed her a printout of flight information for her sanity. “You’ll get over your fears and fly to France someday.”

“No.” She kissed my forehead. “You’ll always come visit. Speaking of which, have you decided how often you’ll be seeing Carter?”

I shook my head. Originally, his intent of once a month sounded probable, but last night, when we’d discussed it, we realized that often would never work. Between his law requirements, and my weekends spent studying in restaurants, it was nearly impossible. The earliest I could see him again would be during the summer.

Six months from now.

“He’s going to come see me in June,” I said. “He already bought the ticket.”

“Good!” She hugged me again. “And when will you be coming back here?”

“August.”

“Even better.” She smiled. “Are you going to apologize to Sean when you get back?”

“Definitely,” I said. “I already sent him an email, but I’m going to do my best to say sorry in person. If he doesn’t slam the door in my face, that is.”

“He won’t.” She looked as if she was going to say something else, but Nicole walked into the room.

“Hey there!” She rushed over, giving me a dramatic hug. “Were you going to leave without telling me goodbye?”

“I would’ve video-chatted with you tomorrow.”

“Well, then!” She laughed. “Good to know I’m back in second citizen territory since you’re back with Carter, huh?”

Two Weeks Gone

Two Weeks Gone. 

Carter

Subject: Crack and Cream

Dear Arizona,

Thank you for sending me your recent concoction of dried waffle chips and buttercream in the mail. I can honestly say it’s just as good (if not better) than Gayle’s. (Josh says they were “just okay” although he fucking stole most of it.) However, I have to be honest with you and tell you that Josh thinks your intent to call it “Sweet Cocaine” won’t be a good idea. He suggests “Sweet High.”

I personally think both are pretty terrible. 

The opposite can be said of the pictures you included though. (Are you tempting me to come see you sooner?) I *did* send you a letter last week and I’m not sure why you didn’t get it; check again tomorrow. Maybe it was delayed for the weather here. 

Thirty one days.

Sincerely,

Carter

––––––––

S
ubject: Re: Crack and Cream.

Well, good thing I didn’t listen to Josh (or you). My teacher thought it was brilliant and I won our class’s weekly challenge. (Thank you for keeping my supply of Gayle’s batter never-ending.  )

Glad you appreciated the pictures. I’ve attached more, and yes, I am tempting you to come sooner.  I actually just checked the mail and got TWO letters from you. I’ll open them after we Skype later tonight.

Thirty days, Carter. How many times do we have to go through this?

Off to eat more ‘sweet cocaine’,

Arizona

––––––––

D
ear Carter (Josh)

Do you really think I don’t know Carter’s handwriting? Do you really think he would EVER write, “I’m so glad I listened to Josh about you. He was so right about fucking you one good time and [you] falling in love with [me]. That’s also why Josh will forever be my number one because you had a very long and selfish moment, but Josh has ALWAYS been loyal”??!!

Grow the hell up!

And learn how to write a proper sentence. (Aren’t you in law school?)

Arizona

––––––––

D
ear Arizona (Pain in my ass)

Of course I’m aware that you know Carter’s handwriting, but since we shouldn’t waste time discussing things you know, here are some things you
don’t
: Your never-ending phone calls and Skype sessions (mostly your loud ass laughter and incessant babbling about absolutely nothing: “Oh my god, Carter...I miss you so much, Carter...”This distance is killing me every day, carter”) have kept me up for WEEKS. Is it too much for the two of you to go back to strictly letter writing and emails?

I think I liked you better when you weren’t talking to each other.

You grow up first.

I will learn how to write a proper sentence...From someone who doesn’t start her own sentences with the word “And”.

Josh

––––––––

S
ubject: Skype App.

Dear Arizona,

I’m not sure what could’ve happened to it between last night and today, but it’s not working. At all. Even the volume looks as if it’s not working. I won’t be able to get it fixed until next week, but I’ll have to use Josh’s computer to reach you tonight so we may have to talk an hour later than usual.

Sincerely,

Carter

Subject: Re: Skype Camera.

LOLOLOL!

Arizona

35. New Romantics

Carter

I closed Ari’s latest email and clicked on my latest term paper. On nights like tonight, it was if she’d never left, as if she was still minutes away from being picked up at her house.

Over the past few weeks, a new sort of routine had developed between us. Instead of weekend meet ups at Gayle’s there were early morning emails:  She traded me her rainy coasts in exchange for white sanded beaches, and I gave her glimpses of moments at Gayle’s while she showed me her concoctions inside the cooking school.

At night, we talked for hours—despite the fact that we both had tons of work to do. We video-chatted whenever our roommates were asleep, and of course, there were still letters.

I didn’t think it was possible for either of us to ever let that go. [...]

When I’d reached the eighth page of my assignment, I realized it was midnight so I headed downstairs.

“Have you talked to your wife tonight?” Josh asked as I stepped in front of the TV. “If so, bravo. I barely heard your conversation this time.”

“You’ve moved Ari from girlfriend to wife now?”

“Might as well.” He groaned, handing me his laptop. “And I swear I wasn’t trying to kill your Skype app. I was just trying to ruin it so you’d never be able to use it again.”

“Did you actually hear what the fuck you just said?”

“I did.” He laughed. “Wait, before you go. I need to ask for your advice on something.”

“Yes, your taste in clothes is absolutely terrible. Was that your question?”

“No.” He rolled his eyes. “I think—”He paused. “I think I might actually like someone. More than just a normal like...”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I said. “You’re not my type.”

“What the fuck, Carter?” He grabbed his beer. “Did I get sarcastic with you when you were moping about Arizona for months? When you were crying like a seven year old when every woman on this beach was willing to give her pussy to you and you were too blind to see it?”

I shook my head, refusing to entertain his wared memories. “Okay, fine. You like someone. Does this someone have a name?”

“She doesn’t. That’s actually her best quality,” he said. “But I don’t think she’s aware that I actually like her beyond what’s currently happening. There’s only so much more of this ‘just friends’ shit I can take, you know? I’m not you.”

“Is there’s a question coming?” I asked. “Or is this a venting session?”

“I need your advice on helping me figure out how to get out of the friend zone. Preferably by the end of the week We can discuss it Saturday..” He grabbed a pair of earplugs and stuck one in his ear. “Okay. I’ve told you, so you can go now.”

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Smalltown, USA

Mia

2004

Dean Collins is the most irresistible asshole at Central High School.

He’s your typical cliché, Mr. Popular. The “guy’s guy” who’s been voted “Homecoming King” two times in a row (minus my vote); the sexy star quarterback who’s capable of making grown women swoon from the sidelines (it really is sad), and the guy who can charm the hell out of any admiring girl with a simple smile, and a “Hey...What’s up?” in five seconds flat.

His face is the object of sculptures—hard and strong jawline, deep and piercing green eyes and dimples that show even when he’s not smiling. And, as if that wasn’t enough for the gods to endow him with, he has a six pack of abs that he always shows off, and full and defined lips that sometimes even make me wonder what they would feel like.

Nonetheless, I always do my best to avoid Dean Collins like the plague: I leave the four classes we take together early, never go to pep rallies to cheer on the team (Dean
is
the team), and the few times that he’s attempted that “Hey...What’s up?” thing on me, I’ve offered a blank stare and walked away.

Today my usual avoidance routine seems to be getting tested. Especially since he’s currently standing five feet away from me.

“Yes?” I look up from my canvas and stare at him from across the classroom. “May I help you with something? You’re not in art club.”

“I’m aware.” He smirks, looking around the empty classroom. “But it doesn’t look like
anyone
is in art club...”

That part is true. There’s actually no such thing as “art club” at Central High. It’s just me taking over whatever classroom I can find to paint for a few hours.

“We’re currently accepting applications for membership,” I say, setting my paintbrush down in the easel tray. “What can I help you with?”