My phone vibrates in my messenger bag on the bus, conveniently waking me only a block from my stop.
I pull it out, realizing that it’s nearly two in the morning again and I’m staring down at Viv’s little face on the screen.
“Viv, you’ve learned technology so quickly!” I say, standing to pull my bag over my shoulder and make my way unsteadily down the narrow bus aisle.
Sabrina laughs on the other end. “I totally ganked your phone when you went to order food, and changed my profile pic. Your passcodes are so adorably predictable.”
I growl, trying to be annoyed, but really, only two people would know the four-digit pin I use for nearly everything: Sabrina and Elliot. It’s my lucky number, fifteen, repeated.
“I’ll change it,” I tell her, thanking the bus driver with a smile he ignores as I step down and onto my street.
“Don’t,” Sabrina cautions. “You’ll forget it.”
“I’ll have you know I’m great with numbers.”
Silence greets me on the other end of the line, and I amend, “At least, the math kind of numbers, when they’re right in front of me and I have a pencil.” I stare up the steep hill I still need to climb before I can be in bed. “Did you call just to harass me? What are you even doing up?”
“I’m feeding the baby, obviously. I assumed you’d be on your way home. I called to check up on you. You fled yesterday.”
Nodding, I begin my slow trudge uphill. The air is dense with moisture, and the incline, after the day I had, feels nearly vertical. “Elliot caught me on the sidewalk.”
“Figured that when he sprinted out of there.”
“He wasn’t super happy with me for, you know, losing touch.”
I hear her quiet scoff. “ ‘Losing touch’?” she repeats. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
Ignoring this, I say, “He tracked me down again today. He broke up with his girlfriend last night after seeing me.”
Sabrina coos through the line, and I stop walking.
“What is that noise you’re making?” I ask.
“It’s sweet, that’s all.”
“You’re on his side?”
Her tiny beat of silence communicates the magnitude of her disbelief. “You’re telling me there was absolutely no swooning when he told you that?”
“You just don’t like Sean.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s the first guy who’s managed to last beyond three dates; of course I like him. He deserves my esteem for beating that record.”
I am so tired, I can feel the unreasonable coming out. Tight defensiveness rises up in my chest, kick-starting my pulse. “Okay, let me clarify: you don’t want me to marry Sean.”
“Macy, honey, I don’t want you to marry Sean—yet—that’s true. But that’s unrelated to me also wanting you to reconnect with Elliot. I adore you, you know this, but you’ve told me what it was like when your mom died. How hard you worked to keep everyone out or at arm’s length—a can of worms we could totally open up, if you have the time—”
“Sabrina.”
“My point is that you could never shut out Elliot. He’s your soul mate. You think I don’t know that?”
I nod, walking again. I’ve been on my feet for so long that my toes are numb in my shoes. I’m essentially just shuffling slowly uphill. “I’m so tired.”
“Oh, honey,” she says gently.
“And there’s something else,” I say, hesitating.
“Yeah?”
“He didn’t know about my dad.” The truth of that one still stings.
Sabrina gasps. “What?”
“I know. That part’s all my fault, I get that.” I rub my face. “I just assumed he would have heard about it . . . through the grapevine.”
She’s gone quiet, and it’s the quiet that nearly breaks me because, holy hell, I am a monster. Sabrina must be thinking for the thousandth time that I am dead inside.
“You’d be fine if his parents died,” she begins slowly, “and he didn’t at least try to get in touch with you?”
Miss Dina’s warm eyes and soft face with deep dimples flicker through my thoughts, sending a spike of pain through me. “I know, I see your point.”
Sabrina’s silent again; I hate having this conversation over the phone. I want the reassuring presence of her on the couch next to me.
“I’m not sure Elliot and I could just be friends.”
She huffs out a breath. “I think it’s worth a try.”
Would I even be able to stay away? If I’m honest, wasn’t part of the appeal of moving back here to be closer to what he and I once had, somehow?
“You really think it’s a good idea for me to reconnect with him?” I ask.
“I’ve always thought that.”
“How?” I hear how small my voice seems and pull out my keys, propping my phone between my ear and shoulder when I drop them to the dark porch. “We had breakfast and I bolted. I don’t have his number or address. No way does he have Facebook or Twitter or anything. Normal modes of stalking are out.”
I can hear Sabrina’s pensive hum as I search blindly for my house key. “You’ll think of something.”
