He laughs. “I know you, Annie. I know you.”
“Yeah,” I say. “So, what’s up?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I miss you. I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately, and I miss you.”
“Do you?”
“Yeah. I’ve missed you since you moved out.”
“When I first moved here, I told you that I missed you and you didn’t say it back.”
“I didn’t know it then. It took me a while to realize.”
“Okay. What about Shannon?”
“This isn’t about her,” he says. “It’s about us.”
The smell of my dirty socks is fairly potent, and it contributes significantly to how surreal this moment is. Is this really happening? Does he really miss me? Do my feet really smell that bad?
“I want to see you,” he says. “I want to talk in person. Can I come see you?”
“Come here?” I ask, trying to angle toward my suitcase.
“I think it would help give us both clarity if we saw each other again.”
“Clarity on what?”
“Annie.”
“Clarity on what?”
“If we made the right choice.”
I’ve been waiting for this since the moment he broke up with me. I’ve wanted it so badly. But now that it’s here, now that it’s happening, I’m surprisingly salty. Why did it take him so long?
“If you don’t want me to, I won’t come,” he says.
“No,” I hear myself say, “I want you to. I want you to come.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” It’s his voice. It’s unraveling me. I picture chaos inside my skin. Muscles dissolving. Bones crumbling into dust. I’m spineless. “I miss you so much.”
I hear a faint tapping. Ralph is awake. He’s at my bedroom door.
“Next weekend?” Sam asks. “Saturday?”
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, Saturday. You have my address?”
Ralph’s whining now.
“Somewhere. Actually, can you send it to me?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I have to go. I’ll text you my address. Let me know what time Saturday, okay?”
“Probably later,” he says. “I have to rent a car. It’s a long drive.”
“Okay,” I say. “We’ll talk soon.”
“Annie,” he says.
“Yeah?”
“If I come, I’ll probably have to stay over. I don’t think I can make it there and back in one day.”
“Okay,” I say. Ralph is going nuts, wailing away.
“Is that okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. I really have to go. Bye.”
I hang up and stumble out of the closet. It’s hard to walk with no spine.
I move the sweater and open the bedroom door.
Ralph is standing there wearing a giant frown. I can see it in his eyes. He’s suspicious.
“Sorry,” I say, faking a yawn. “I was asleep. Must have dropped my sweater.”
He marches past me into the room. Fortunately, he’s too sleep-drunk to do any investigating. He climbs up the nightstand to his bed. He turns his back to me and resumes his snoozing.
I take my phone into the bathroom and sit on the edge of the tub. I send Sam my address and then delete my text and call history.
I set my phone down and curl up in the tub. It feels safe. Quiet and safe.
I used to think that if Sam ever came back, I would be ecstatic, I would be instantly freed of any and all sadness, but right now I can’t shake this sudden, indomitable dread.
What if we’re too far gone? What if we can’t be put back together? Not with all the king’s horses and all the king’s men or superglue.
What will I do then?
TOIL & TROUBLE
With every day, the dread morphs into something more and more like excitement. Sam and I are talking again. Texting constantly. I get to school early and stay late since it’s impossible to text at home with Ralph around.
By Friday, I’m full-on giddy.
Tomorrow, Sam says, adding a bunch of emojis. A series of smiley faces and a single slice of pizza.
Are you bringing pizza? I ask.
Pizza sold separately.
What about batteries? Are they included?
I’m a windup, he says.
You sure are.
After school, I stop at the grocery store to stock up on food and assorted beverages. I get wine from the liquor store in Aster, as I’m still avoiding everything and everyone in Rowan.
When I get home, I clean my apartment from top to bottom. I use Q-tips to dust the baseboards, an old toothbrush to scrub the grout in the bathroom. When I’m done, the place stinks like bleach and Lemon Pledge. I light a candle to mask the smell.