It hasn’t been long since those insecurities of not being enough were drowned out by Miller. Those voices were quieted but never truly extinguished, lingering just below the surface.
They’re there again, wondering, dreading the confirmation that she got back to her regularly scheduled life full of chaotic kitchens, traveling the country for work, and being interviewed for fancy magazines only to laugh at herself for ever believing she could get attached to this quiet and simple life with my son and me.
Mid-read of her latest interview, my phone dings with a new text.
Ryan: Family dinner is happening. Thought you were coming by after your game?
Shit. I didn’t even realize. That calendar that I once stared at and memorized, the one that moved at the speed of light while Miller was here, is now moving in slow motion, days ticking down when it feels like I should be crossing off months.
So, yeah, I forgot that it was Sunday because how the hell have I lived through this pain for an entire seven days?
Or maybe subconsciously I made myself forget because the idea of hanging out with my friends, the same friends that are hopelessly in love with their partners, while I’m wallowing in heartbreak sounds like the last thing on earth I want to do.
Me: Sorry, I spaced. I’ll be there next week.
Maybe.
Ryan: Next week, me and my wife will be on our honeymoon.
Shit. The guy is getting married on Saturday and I completely forgot.
Me: I’m a terrible friend. Of course, I know that. I’m looking forward to Saturday.
Ryan: Don’t sweat it. I know you’re going through it right now. We’re here for you if you’d let us be.
Me: I’ll be all right.
Before I can get back to Miller-stalking, a new text thread comes through.
Indy: Ryan can bring you leftovers if you haven’t eaten yet.
Me: Thanks, Ind, but I’m okay.
Indy: Love you and Max. Thinking of you both.
I intend to swipe out of our conversation, but I can’t help myself, hovering my thumb over the keyboard.
Me: Have you heard from her?
A pathetic amount of hope mixes with dread.
Indy: I texted her the other day to tell her she was missed. She said work was kicking her butt, but she missed everyone here too.
I begin to respond, wanting to tell Indy to relay a message for me, that Max misses her, that I miss her, but I talk myself out of it. If she’s going to hear that, it should come from me.
Me: Looking forward to Saturday.
Indy: Me too!!!!!!
The idea of family dinner without Miller is bad enough, but to sit through my friends’ wedding alone? God, that’s going to be rough. I have six days to try to pull it together, to attempt not to ruin their day with my shitty attitude.
Any and all resolve leaves me when I mindlessly find her contact in my phone. It’s staring back at me, taunting me.
Would it really be the worst thing in the world if I got to hear her voice? If I could just tell her how much we’re missing her. Maybe I’d feel better if she knew. Maybe she’d feel better too. Or, and more likely, I just want to hear her say it back.
Without another moment of thought, I press her name and call.
My knees are bouncing with nerves as her phone rings. It continues to do so two more times, until finally on the fourth one, she answers.
My heart soars out of my chest at the knowledge that she’s on the other line, that she can hear me. “Miller?”
I’m fairly certain my voice cracks on her name which would be real fucking embarrassing if I could feel anything other than excitement.
“Uh, no,” someone finally says on the other end. “This is Violet, her agent. She’s in the middle of an interview, at the moment.”
Instant deflation.
“Oh, okay. Do you know when she’ll be done?”
“I’m not sure. She’s got a long night in the kitchen afterward. I’d guess she’ll be free around 2 a.m. or so.”
Two a.m. in Los Angeles which would be 4 a.m. in Chicago.
“Do you want me to have her call you then?” Violet asks.
“No. No, don’t worry about it. I know she’s busy.”
“She is, but it’s all very big and exciting things for her. And she’s happy here. She’s jiving well with this kitchen. She’s got a bright future in the industry. Take it from me. I’ve represented a lot of chefs in my career, but none as promising as her.”
This is what I wanted, for her to succeed. I just didn’t realize it’d hurt so bad to watch from the sidelines. But taking myself out of the equation, I couldn’t be prouder of that girl. It sounds like she’s finally finding what makes her happy.