One Last Shot: Chapter 22

As I navigate the twisting mountain roads leading up to the house Lauren and Josh built overlooking the valley, I try not to worry about how much more I have to do before I drive down to LA tomorrow.

I’ve been so busy that I don’t think I’ve slept more than four or five hours a night since coming home, but that means I also haven’t had time to dwell on the situation with Aleksandr. I haven’t had time to cry since getting off the phone with Sierra on Sunday afternoon and launching into work mode. And it’s better this way. It’s better to be busy.

Morgan found me a great house on Airbnb, so I’ve rented that for the next couple months. I’d thought I’d wait until I got down there to find a place, but this is less taxing on me at a time when I don’t feel like I could take one more thing. I’ve spent the last two days getting everything set up at work: assigning different members of my team to be the official point person for each of the events we’ve taken on, getting Morgan up to speed with all the finance-related parts of the business so she can take care of some of that for me while I’m gone. It still feels like I’m juggling a hundred more balls, and I’m worried I’ll drop one of them and they’ll break. But I’m sure once I’m settled in LA, this will all feel more doable.

I pull up the driveway to the beautiful wooden mountain house Josh designed, marveling at the huge windows and their view of the valley, and park in front of the three-car garage.

The second my car is in park, my phone buzzes with a text message. It’s from CeCe, which is funny because I didn’t even realize that I had her number in my phone. It must have been from years ago, back when we had the same circle of friends in New York.

A shudder of revulsion runs through me. The way we left things after their last visit, I can’t believe she’d dare ask. There is something just not right about Tony. The way he looks at Stella gives me the creeps, and the thought of her having to see them again, much less ever ending up with them, is almost enough to make me hop on the first flight back to New York just to protect her myself.

I don’t respond. Instead, I start a text to my favorite private investigator friend.

I throw my phone in my purse, relieved to know Alicia is looking into this for me. After what she was able to find on Ryan back when he was stealing from me and others, I’m confident that if there is something to find here, she’ll dig it up. And I will have something that can help Aleksandr even if I can’t be there in person to help.

“You’re here!” Lauren says when she flings open the front door and meets me on the wide front porch. Her red hair hangs well past her shoulders and with her flat riding boots on, she barely comes up to my shoulders. I wrap her in a hug and she says, “I missed you. First, you desert me for three weeks, and now you’re moving to LA?”

“It’s just for a couple months,” I tell her as I pull back and look down at her. She’s wearing a lightweight black sweater dress with a deep V-neck and it shows off her creamy skin and motherly curves perfectly. “Also,” I tell her, “that dress is sexy as hell on you. Motherhood gave you a great rack.”

A laugh bursts out of her, and in Lauren-like fashion it sounds like it came from the mouth of a fairy. “I can confidently tell you that big boobs are the only physical perk of having grown two tiny humans in my body. This dress”—she points to the part that wraps around her waist like a belt—“hides many of the flaws.”

“Well, personally, I think you’re even sexier now that you’ve had kids.” I think back to the month the girls spent in the NICU after they were born, and now they are healthy and strong and already crawling. “And it was all worth it for the girls.”

I don’t miss her side-eye. A few months ago, I told her that watching her pregnancy convinced me I never wanted to have children. I was trying to sympathize with what a terrible pregnancy she’d had, but I’d already decided I didn’t want kids, and even I can admit it was a shitty thing to say. Especially now that I’ve spent the last few weeks around Stella, and could easily imagine what a mother-daughter relationship would be like if it were with her. Maybe kids aren’t so bad after all?

“What’s gotten into you? Is this because of that little girl you were holding at that hockey game?”

I roll my head back and look at the beadboard ceiling of the porch. Fuck. Sometimes it feels impossible to keep secrets with my girlfriends.

“I saw the video of you and that hot hockey player locking eyes,” Lauren says when I don’t respond, “and when I texted Jackson and Sierra to see if one of them knew what was going on, Sierra told us that you didn’t want to talk about it yet. So neither Jackson nor I pushed.”

Even after I told Sierra what was going on the other day, she didn’t run back and tell Jackson or Lauren. Interesting.

“Well, we’ve got some stuff to catch up on then,” I tell her as I follow her through the entryway.

“Good,” she says, and it’s then that I notice the voices coming from her kitchen. Obviously, it’s not just Josh in there. “Because, even though I know how you hate surprises, I invited some friends.”

We round the corner and Jackson and Sierra are squealing and rushing toward me. “What are you doing here?” I ask as they envelop me and Lauren in a group hug. Over their shoulders, I see Nate, Beau, and Josh watching us closely.

“You didn’t think you were moving to LA without saying goodbye, did you?” Jackson asks.

“But you don’t even live here anymore,” I say, looking between her and Sierra.

“It doesn’t matter where we live,” Sierra says. “No way we’re letting a huge milestone like this go by without being here to celebrate with you.”

“But I thought you were in Europe or something?”

“Nope, Beau and I are in Blackstone, staying with Jackson and Nate for a while before we head down to Costa Rica.” I marvel at the one-eighty Sierra’s done over the past couple months, going from an uptight planner who had to stick to the path she’d set for herself, to someone who can travel the globe with her snowboarding boyfriend, making up their itinerary as they go. “Surf season’s starting for Beau and I want to learn to scuba dive.”

“And we haven’t all been together since Sierra’s birthday,” Jackson says. “Three months feels like forever to not see all your best friends.” She wraps her arms around us for another squeeze, and I’m caught off guard at how uncharacteristically emotional Jackson’s being.

“You okay?” I ask her quietly.

“I’m great,” she says, “it’s just that everything is changing so fast for everyone.”

Josh lures us further into the kitchen with the offer of drinks, and we stand around the large kitchen island grazing on the appetizers Lauren’s set up on the counter. She’s not big on cooking, but she can put together a mean predinner spread and she’s the queen of interesting salads.

I add more dip to a cracker and take in the scene around me. It’s interesting watching the energy in the room—it’s all happiness and love.

Nate has his arm wrapped around Jackson’s lower back and is absently stroking her hip with his thumb. The newlywed period is treating them well. I have known them since they were barely twenty, back when their love and their tempers both burned equally bright. And now, a decade later, I’m confident their seasoned love is the real deal. They’re going to be the ones we watch to see how it’s done.

Next to them, Beau is feeding Sierra a piece of chicken and as she sucks the barbecue sauce off his fingers, he dips his head toward her ear. Given how his body is pressed up against her hip, I don’t need much imagination to guess what he’s saying. I’ve never seen a guy so whipped over a girl as Beau is with Sierra, and I’ve never known anyone who deserved that adoration more than she does.

Josh and Lauren had a whirlwind romance and were married only a few months after they met, but that was years ago, before I knew them. Since then, they suffered through miscarriages and infertility treatments together. I don’t know Josh nearly as well as I know Lauren, but I see the protective way he hovers around her, always wanting to make sure she’s safe and cared for.

I wonder what that would feel like to know you were loved? To have someone who wanted to build the kind of partnership Jackson and Nate have built, or to receive the kind of adoration that Beau reserves for Sierra, or to have the deep trust that Josh and Lauren share? Is that what Sasha and I started—something that could develop into a lasting love? Did I make a mistake in refusing to stay?

Suddenly I have such a longing for him that my response is physical, a shudder that runs through my whole body like the feelings are refusing to stay inside me.

Nate’s the one to notice, and he dips his eyebrows. “You okay?” he asks, and five other pairs of eyes turn toward me.

Oh yeah, just the only single girl here and for the first time in my life, I’m not okay with that. I want Sasha here with me. I want his hand resting possessively on my lower back, I want him mixing up a drink he knows I like, I want him growing close with my friends and their significant others, and I want to know that at the end of the night I’ll be going home with him—to have him to talk to on the drive home, to feel the sexual tension building as we approach my apartment, and then being able to rip his clothes off the minute we walk through the door. I wonder if he’s still up? Should I call him?

“Petra,” Sierra says, “you’re scaring me.” Then to our friends: “Look how she’s just staring off into space like that.”

“Sorry, just lost in thought,” I say, shaking my head to clear away the mental images of Sasha and me naked in my apartment.

I exhale and attempt to relax my whole body as I set the glass down. It sort of works, until Jackson says, “This wouldn’t have anything to do with that super hot hockey player you were eye-fucking on national television, would it?”

I’m not sure if the heat I feel flooding into my face is embarrassment or anger. It’s unlike Jackson to call me out like this, but to be fair, I’d never think twice about saying something like that to one of my friends. It’s a taste of my own medicine, for sure.

“It’s probably time for us to start grilling that steak, right guys?” Nate is all smoothness as he steps back, cuing Josh and Beau to do the same.

The three of them are at the back door so quickly they almost forget the meat. While I glare at Jackson, Lauren takes the foil-wrapped serving platter from the fridge and brings it over to them.

“That was an asshole move,” I tell Jackson once the guys escape to the huge stone patio out back.

She smiles sweetly at me. “Sorry, but we don’t keep secrets from each other.”

“Like hell we don’t. One word—Marco.”

Sierra’s laugh bursts out of her mouth so quickly it surprises even her.

“Touché,” Jackson says with a small eye roll.

“Can we go back to you eye-fucking Alex Ivanov on national TV, please?” Lauren says. “Because it sure as hell didn’t look like you just happened to catch his eye. He was flat out staring at you, and who was that child you were holding? And why were you wearing his jersey?”

I share the same details I’d given Sierra over the phone two days ago. When I finish, there’s a moment where Lauren and Jackson are speechless, and Sierra looks nervously between them.

“Who even are you?” Lauren asks when I’m done. “What happened to hating kids?”

“And never spending more than one night with a guy? Now you’re married,” Sierra mutters.

I expect Jackson to chime in too, but when I glance at her, she’s just got this lost look like she’s sad or disappointed. “I guess we all have secrets,” she said. “I just didn’t expect that you’d have this person who was so important, so pivotal to your life, and never mention him once in all the years we’ve been friends.”

“It was such a long time ago,” I say, trying not to think about the fact that Aleksandr is hardly the only secret I’ve kept from her and from everyone else. “I guess I didn’t feel like sharing the parts of me that were devastated when he left like that.”

“Why did he?” Lauren asks. “It sounds like you two were so close, and obviously attracted to each other, and you loved each other . . .” She trails off, trying to interpret his motivations. I’ve never been able to make sense of that, no matter how many times I thought it through.

“I don’t really know.”

“You didn’t ask?” Jackson asks. Her voice is incredulous. “That’s not like you either.”

“I feel unlike myself in a lot of ways lately,” I say, glancing over her head and out the kitchen window. All I see is the inky blue outline of the coniferous trees, barely lit by the light of the moon, lining the furthest extent of the patio.

“There has to be a reason,” Sierra says. “He obviously wanted you like you wanted him.”

“Or I misinterpreted the situation and made him super uncomfortable.”

“Do you think that’s what happened?” Lauren asks gently.

“No. But I don’t know why else he would have just left like that.”

“You need to find out, obviously,” Jackson says. “Because you can’t move forward with this relationship without knowing the truth.” Her words echo my own conclusions from my conversation with Sierra. “Maybe that’s what’s holding you back?”

Maybe. “What’s holding me back is the impossibility of it all. I’m moving to LA. He has to stay in New York. And the only way I can help him adopt Stella is to give up my dreams and move back to New York.”

“Would that really be giving up your dreams, though?” Jackson asks. “I mean, you didn’t even want this TV gig in the first place. You had to be convinced by your producer, and when we talked about it a few weeks ago, you still seemed kind of hesitant. Is this opportunity really worth giving up on a relationship that could be forever?”

“Why does she have to give up on it?” Sierra asks Jackson. “Obviously the show is important to her now, even if she was hesitant to start with.” She turns toward me. “Why can’t you just take these couple months to film your show, see where the relationship goes, and figure out where to go once filming is done?”

“How in the world would I make a long-distance relationship work in the meantime?” I ask.

“Jackson and Nate did it,” Lauren reminds me. “After they got back together, he was still in Europe for a few months before he came back to Blackstone.”

“It was hard,” Jackson says, “but it wasn’t impossible. When you have something worth fighting for, Petra, you fight. You don’t walk away. Is this worth fighting for?”

I chew my lips between my teeth to hold in the Yes! that wants to burst out. “I think so,” I finally say.

“Then fight, girl,” Sierra says. “Be unapologetically you. Be a badass and in love. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

“To being a badass in love,” Jackson says, raising her glass. We all follow suit, and I smile, relief flooding through me because it all feels more possible now.

Dinner is delicious and over too quickly. Because Sierra and Beau’s relationship is so new, and Jackson and Nate didn’t live here when Sierra and Beau got together, this is the first time my girlfriends and I have hung out with their significant others all together as a group. That sense of hope that was ignited with our toast earlier has me wishing even more that someday Sasha can be a part of this. I think he’d like my friends and get along with their men.

“I’m headed to Mammoth next month,” Josh says in response to a question Nate asks him about skiing. The two have never known each other very well since Josh’s departure from the National Ski Team is what opened a spot for Nate. Like nearly all the relationships stitched together around this table, Jackson is the common thread.

Lauren pushes her chair back so abruptly that all six pairs of eyes swing toward her. “I’m going to grab some more wine,” she says, and she turns to head into the kitchen.

I’m not quite sure what I saw in her eyes as she turned away, but it has me worried. “I’ll help her,” I tell my friends before following Lauren into the kitchen.

I find her squatting so she’s sitting on her heels, staring at the unopened wine fridge. Her forehead is resting against the glass door, and I watch as her ribcage expands and contracts with a few deep breaths.

Her head whips up to look over her shoulder as I approach, then she sighs with visible relief before saying, “Oh, it’s you.”

“Who did you think it would be?” I ask.

“I don’t know, but I’m glad it’s you.” Her words are a shock. Out of all my friends, I have the least in common with Lauren and I don’t know her quite as well as I know Jackson and Sierra. We’re friends, but I don’t know that we would ever have been close if it hadn’t been for Jackson.

“What’s going on?” I ask as I reach my hand out and pull her up to a standing position.

“Nothing.” She pauses. “I mean, it just gets lonely, you know? I’m home all the time with the twins. Josh is retired from skiing but still acts like it’s his job to travel to every ski resort on the planet. He’s gone on some big trip at least once a month, and I’m stuck here. I don’t have any family here, and even though Josh’s parents are here, his mom is like the queen of the ice queens, you know?”

I nod, even though I’ve never met Josh’s mom. This is not the first time Lauren has mentioned her, and she sounds quite difficult. Instead of being the doting grandmother Lauren had hoped for, her mother-in-law is hypercritical of Lauren as a mom.

“And now that Jackson and Sierra have both moved away,” she continues, “and you’re going to LA for a few months . . . I just don’t have anyone now except for Josh.”

“I’m sorry, Lauren,” I say.

“No, please don’t feel bad about chasing your dreams. And don’t feel bad for me about this situation. I’m the one who jumped into this marriage after knowing Josh for what, a few weeks? I left my whole world behind for him. And I didn’t regret it one bit, at first. But now that we have kids . . .” she says, “it’s like I can feel him pulling away and I don’t know what I can do about it. He’s gone a lot, and I have no idea who any of these people are that he travels with. I want to hold on tightly, make him stay here and spend time with his family. But I feel like the more tightly I hold on, the more he pulls away.”

“Lauren, I had no idea.” I wrap my arms around her, and I can tell how hard she’s trying not to cry by the way she holds her breath through our hug.

“This is all so new,” she says. “Having kids. Feeling my heart grow larger to accommodate how much I love them, and Josh, and our life together. Watching him grow distant while all this is happening . . . we should be enjoying this time together, watching our girls grow and hit their milestones, reveling in the family we’ve created. Having my expectations be so out of line with my reality is hard.”

“Have you talked to him? Told him how you’re feeling?”

“Every time I try to bring it up,” she says, her voice dropping even lower to make sure they can’t hear us in the other room, “he makes it seem like this is about me being insecure and clingy. He thinks that me not wanting him to go on these ski trips every few weeks is ridiculous. He reminds me that he used to be gone for months at a time when he was competing on the National Ski Team, and he clearly doesn’t understand why this is different. But that was his job, and we didn’t have kids.”

I can’t argue the second point, but the first is kind of wrong. Josh is a ski pro. These trips he takes are him traveling with other pros, representing the brands that sponsor him. As someone who used to be in sports marketing, I know Lauren understands that this is what pays their bills. I’m sure Josh has a decent amount of savings, but this huge house they built had to have cost a fortune, and bills still need to be paid.

“Now he’s choosing to leave his family like twenty-five percent of the time just for fun, and when he is here . . .” She pauses. “Sometimes it seems like his head is somewhere else.”

I am both shocked by this revelation, and shocked she’s telling me. I have no experience in this area, no advice to offer.

“Have you talked to anyone else about how you’re feeling?”

“Like a therapist?” she asks, then lets out a bitter laugh. “When would I have time to do that? Even when he’s home, Josh is useless with the girls.”

I think about the way he was hovering near her earlier. “Josh has always seemed so protective of you, like he just wants to make sure you’re happy.”

“Yeah, it always felt that way to me too. I’m not sure what’s changed, but now it feels like he’s becoming controlling and absent at the same time.”

“Lauren,” I say, bowing my head so she won’t see the frown. How has she been going through this and hasn’t told any of us? “What can I do?”

“There’s nothing you can do, really. He’s the one who should be doing something differently, and until I figure out how to have a talk with him about this that doesn’t result in him telling me I’m being clingy and desperate, or me telling him he’s being controlling . . . there isn’t much anyone can do.”

“I really think you should talk to someone. I’d offer to watch the girls for you, but since I’m going to be gone the next couple months, I’m useless. But,” I say, an idea forming in my mind as it comes out my mouth, “Morgan used to nanny during the summers in college, didn’t she? And hasn’t she babysat for you before?”

“She has,” Lauren says, but I can tell by her voice that she doesn’t like asking for help, even if it’s from her cousin.

“Why don’t you see if she could watch the girls while you talk to someone? Her work schedule is totally flexible, so it doesn’t matter if it has to be during the day.”

Lauren gives me a small smile that doesn’t touch her sad eyes, but it’s a start.

“If that doesn’t work out, I’ll help you think up another plan, okay? I really want to make sure you get the help you need to navigate this in a way that’s going to be good for you, Josh, and the girls.”

Lauren folds into me and I wrap my arms around her small frame, trying really hard not to imagine this same situation playing out between me and Aleksandr if we tried to make things work between us. Things already work, even with a child in the mix, I remind myself.

But I can’t shake the niggly feeling that what Lauren is experiencing is, if not the norm, still totally normal. Once the newness and the lust fade, is this what you’re left with—chasing your husband’s affections, begging for his spare moments, hoping he’ll be the father you thought he’d be?

I promised myself a long time ago that I’d never put a man and his needs before my own, that I’d always be first string in my own life. I can’t go through the kind of hurt I’ve been through before, or the kind I’m seeing Lauren go through right now.

I just can’t.

I’ve never known the kind of bone-weary exhaustion that I’m experiencing. Even back in my modeling days, when it felt like all I ever did was go from photoshoots to runways to parties, over and over again—running on caffeine and too little food—I wasn’t this tired. You were also almost a decade younger, I remind myself, you had more energy then.

I collapse onto my couch, wondering how I can simultaneously feel so fulfilled and so empty at the same time. The show is amazing. The crew, the guests, the whole experience—it has completely blown away my expectations. It’s so much better than I could have even imagined. And my company is doing well. Morgan has really stepped up in my absence, the junior event planners are doing amazing. Finding the time to fit in meetings and calls, and making sure that no balls get dropped has been a challenge, but things could not be going better. And yet . . .

I’m running on empty.

I’m lonely.

I’m missing Sasha and Stella more than I thought possible.

Even so, I’m holding him at a distance, afraid to trust him with my heart. I know we need to have some important conversations: about why he cut me out of his life when we were teenagers, about how to move forward from here. But I can’t seem to bring myself to talk to him about these things over the phone, especially not when I’m this tired all the time.

I pull up our text thread and rewatch the video Stella sent me earlier.

I miss you so much, Petra. Look what Dada and I made. The camera flips, and it shows me a calendar on her wall. There are three weeks’ worth of red X’s on it, and on the last day it says in big red letters: PETRA! She flips the camera back to herself. I can’t wait to see you. How long will you stay?

I open the camera on my phone to record a video reply and am appalled at the dark circles under my eyes, the way my skin looks sallow and my eyelids look droopy—all the things my “TV makeup” hides are so obvious now that I’ve washed my face. Ugh. I don’t want to document myself looking like this. Even though I know Stella won’t care, I don’t really want Sasha to see me like this either. It’s vain and stupid, this hesitance I’m feeling, but I hate being vulnerable in any way.

I’ll film a reply to her tomorrow, after the hair and makeup people on set have had their way with me. I’m sure I can find a few moments alone in my dressing room to record and send it. I pull up the Reminders on my phone and set it for tomorrow so I don’t forget. No matter how good my intentions are , I’m juggling too many balls and liable to drop them all if I rely on my memory.

I scroll back to Sasha’s last text above Stella’s video.

My finger hovers over the call button on the screen, but I hesitate to touch it. I’m not sure I have the energy for a conversation. Especially not if it’s as tense as the last conversation we had. How have I only talked to him once in the last week and a half? I feel simultaneously awed that the time is passing so quickly, and ashamed that I haven’t made time for him. But where would I find the time, exactly? Right now, when I can barely keep my eyes open and it’s almost midnight his time?

I hit the button to initiate the call, then put the phone on speaker and set it next to me on the cushion as I stretch out on the couch.

“’Lo?” Aleksandr’s voice is groggy when he answers his phone with a half-word.

“Hey there. I’m sorry I’m calling so late.”

“’S fine,” he says.

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry I woke you.”

“I said to call me tonight when you have a minute,” he says, his voice functioning appropriately now that he’s waking up. “I wanted to talk to you, I don’t care what time it is.”

“Being in different time zones sucks. It makes it even harder to talk to you and impossible to talk to Stella.” When I get up in the morning, she’s already at school. When I get home from work, she’s already long asleep.

“Hey,” he says, “what’s wrong? You sound like you’re tearing up.”

I use the back of my hand to wipe away the tears that are streaming down my face.

“I’m just exhausted, so everything seems like an insurmountable problem. I’m fine, really.”

“Why are you so exhausted? Are you sleeping poorly?”

“No, I’m sleeping fine.” In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever slept so much in my life, but I still wake up feeling exhausted.

“Petra,” he purrs. “You shouldn’t be feeling exhausted like that if you’re sleeping enough. Are you sure you’re not sick?” The concern in his voice is endearing.

“I don’t feel sick. Just tired. Like hard to even get out of bed in the morning tired.”

“You’re not pregnant, are you?” His voice is suddenly incredibly alert, and . . . what is that tone? Hopeful?

I think back to the incredibly painful period I had the first week I was here. They seem to be getting worse as I get older. “No, I’m definitely not.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive. I got my period right after I arrived in LA.”

“Then you need to see a doctor. Get to the bottom of why you’re feeling like this.”

“I’m feeling like this because I have a grueling schedule that consists of like eight hours of hair, makeup, and filming a day, plus I’m still running my business too.”

“That shouldn’t make you feel like you can’t get out of bed after a good night’s sleep.”

I know he’s right. “I don’t even have a doctor here.”

“Then go to Urgent Care. This isn’t rocket science, Petra.” He apparently doesn’t like my Hmm response because he asks, “Do I need to come out there and take you to the doctor myself?”

The thought of seeing him again, feeling his arms around me, has more tears streaming down my face. I want him so badly. But also, I feel like I need him. And isn’t that exactly what Sierra warned me about? That I should want him in my life, not because I need him, but because I don’t need him and my life is better with him in it anyway?

These emotions and this confusion, this is why you don’t do relationships, I tell myself. Too much angst. My happiness should never be tied to another person’s presence.

“You don’t need to take me to the doctor. If I don’t feel better soon, I’ll go. I promise.”

He clears his throat. “What if I want to come out there just to see you?”

My heart does a little flip. “You know I want to see you,” I tell him. “But there’s no time. It would be a wasted trip for you. Even when I’m not filming, I’m still working. My only day off is Sunday.”

“You know I’d fly across the country even if it was to see you just for one day, right?”

Cue my heart melting, my breath frozen in my lungs. “Sasha,” my voice warns. This is too much. “I’ll be back there in a few weeks. It’s not worth wasting your whole weekend for a day together.”

“I’m sorry you think that would be a waste,” he says, but I can’t tell how he’s feeling. Disappointed? Sad? Angry?

“That’s not what I meant.”

He lets out a long sigh, and the sound carries through my phone speaker like a big whoosh. “When you left, we said we weren’t going to say goodbye to this relationship. And yet this is the second week you’ve been gone and only the second time I’ve talked to you.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, burrowing my head into the pillow and wishing I could close my eyes and succumb to sleep. But he deserves to have this conversation. We deserve it. “I am not trying to ignore you,” I say, and wince a bit at the tiny white lie. I have definitely held him at arm’s length since I left, because I know how many balls I can juggle and I’m already maxed out. “I can’t over-emphasize how busy I’ve been. And I do want to see you, I really do. But I think that only having a day to spend with you while you’re here would make this harder. I’d rather wait until I can really focus on you, devote more than twenty-four hours to being together. This past week and a half has been hard, but it has also flown by. Only a couple more weeks until I’m back in New York.”

His silence gives me hope that he understands. “I’d be thrilled to have even one day with you right now. But I don’t want to make things harder for you.”

“We can revisit all of this when I’m back for your party.”

“That feels like forever from now.”

“It will pass quickly,” I say, hoping I sound persuasive. “You’re about to start your next round of playoff games. You’ll be so busy you won’t even have time to miss me.” I try to laugh to pass that statement off as a joke, but it falls flat.

“I’ve missed you for fourteen years,” he says. “I hardly think I’m going to stop now.”

And suddenly I can’t breathe. The part of me that wants to demand he tell me why he told me he didn’t see me “like that” and then cut me out of his life, wars with the part of me that isn’t sure I can even form a coherent sentence right now. This moment, when I’m too exhausted to keep my eyes open for even a second longer, feels like the wrong time to start a crucially important conversation like this one.

Instead, I say, “Good. Don’t stop.”

“Petra, I couldn’t stop thinking about you and missing you if my life depended on it. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

That certainly wasn’t what I was expecting to hear, but it’s what I needed to know.

“Yes.” The word is a whisper escaping my lips. I don’t know what the future holds for us, but I need to know he’s in this as much, or maybe even more than I am. “I have to go now. I can’t stay awake any longer.”

“Are you in bed already?” He sounds so much more alert than me, even though I woke him up from a dead sleep only minutes ago.

“I’m on the couch.”

“I wish I was there to carry you to your bedroom and tuck you in.” His voice is so gentle and I’m so worn out that his words have my eyes stinging as tears threaten to fall again.

“Me too.”

“You’re not going to get off that couch tonight, are you?” He chuckles.

“So comfy,” I tell him.

“Set your alarm on your phone right now,” he says, “so you don’t oversleep in the morning.”

“So bossy,” I say, even though he’s right. I set the alarm, then put the phone back down next to my face.

After a moment’s pause, he asks, “Did you do it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Good night.”

“Night.” I don’t even disconnect the call, I just assume he’s going to do that, and I close my eyes, relieved when everything fades to black.