Dear Mom,
I've been invited to a Valentine's Day party, if you can believe that.
Kimberly, one of the women I met when I went sledding with Jack, is hosting it, and she said she wants me to come. I've found out a little more about her. Apparently, she grew up in a town called White Plains, New York, where they had a lot of snow. She isn't too fond of it. (And she calls me Spence.) And I ended up telling her a lot about my job, and a little about what happened in Georgia. You know, the only two days in the past ten years I didn't either write you a letter or physically see you. Anyway, she looks uncannily like JJ, and she asked if Hotch and I were related.
Anyway, she wants me to play drinking Jenga. There are commands written on blocks that are stacked into a tower, and you draw blocks from the tower, trying not to knock it over. Then you do the command on the block. (I know you don't like me drinking, but I'm 28, I can handle it. And if it makes you feel better, I probably could sleep on Hotch's couch that night.)
I'll come visit you in the spring, I promise.
Love,
Spencer