“No,” I say, hearing the certainty in my own voice and believing it. “I need to know what happens next. What he actually wants. If we can figure this out or if we’re just going to keep hurting each other.”
The next morning, back at my apartment, I throw clothes in a bag without really looking at them.
“You want to see Chloe?!” I ask Laila in that excited voice that always gets her going. She immediately starts spinning and barking, her whole body wiggling with anticipation. The drive to Theo’s is muscle memory at this point. We’ve been doing these sleepovers regularly since Susan passed, with Chloe declaring herself Laila’s “best friend forever.” Laila seems to love it as much as Chloe does.
When I drop Laila off, Chloe and Laila immediately race off together, already lost in their own world. Theo gives me Calvin’s address without my even having to ask. All I say is “I might need to talk to him” and he nods with immediate understanding.
Now I’m sitting in my car outside Theo’s, engine running,trying to decide if I’m really doing this. It’s just over two hours to Seattle. Two hours to figure out what to say to a man who just stood up in front of hundreds of people and told them he loves me.
I think about that poem, about himwaiting in the wreckage. About him not calling me. Maybe he’s scared, but he’s not the only coward here. I hid that tattoo for weeks. We’re both scared of being truly seen, of being vulnerable. Maybe that’s why we keep missing each other.
I put the car in drive.
I’m not going to Seattle to beg or to save us. I’m going to have the conversation we should have had before he left. The honest one, without hiding or running.
The highway stretches ahead. Whatever happens next, at least it will be real. No more pretty metaphors, no more secrets. Just truth.
Even if the truth is that we can’t make this work.
Even then, at least we’ll know.
CHAPTER 30
CALVIN
Morning light fills my apartment, that particular Seattle gray that makes ten AM look like dawn. I’ve been sitting at my kitchen island for an hour, drinking coffee and replaying yesterday’s reading in my head. Day three of the Found Words Festival is starting without me, not that I’m expected after yesterday.
The festival organizers had called last night, diplomatically suggesting I skip my final panel. “Given the social media situation,” they’d said carefully, meaning the videos of me punching Adrian that were everywhere by now, plus my impromptu poem that had somehow gone viral. “We think it might be best not to add fuel to the fire.” Elena had followed up with her own call, thanking me for dealing with Adrian and apologizing for the situation, but the truth was I felt nothing but relief. No more panels. No more performing wisdom I don’t possess.
So here I sit, thinking about standing on that stage yesterday. For the first time in years, I said something real instead of crafted. Told a room full of strangers that I love her, that Ibelieve her, that I want to build something real. It was terrifying and necessary and the most honest I’ve been in public in years.
But I should call her. I know I should. Pick up the phone and tell her directly instead of hoping she saw the livestream. My phone sits right there on the counter, and I keep reaching for it, then pulling back. Some part of me is still frozen, still unable to bridge that gap between public declaration and private conversation.
I’d managed to text everyone else. Alex, checking in after seeing the video. Theo, thanking him for being there for me. Even pulled out that business card from my pocket where I’d shoved it weeks ago, still creased from my angry grip. I’d sent David and Jolene a message at 2 AM:
Calvin:I’m not ready for what you want from me. The money, the career help, that’s not happening. But maybe we could start with something smaller. A phone call sometime. No expectations. I need to understand some things about where I come from, but on my terms. This isn’t forgiveness. It’s just a possibility.
Jolene:Calvin, thank you for reaching out. We’ll take whatever you’re willing to give. A phone call sounds perfect. We’re here whenever you’re ready. No pressure.
David:We know we handled everything wrong. Both then and at the café. Just grateful you’re open to any contact at all.
I’d stared at their responses for a while. They seemed to understand what I was offering. Not absolution, not a relationship, just a door cracked open slightly.
I could text strangers who abandoned me as a baby, but not the woman I love. What does that say about me?
Did she even see the poem? Probably not. If she did see it, did she understand what I was trying to say? That the tattoo doesn’t matter, that I know she’s not like those people I accused her of being, that I want her for exactly who she is?
My phone sits on the counter next to my coffee mug, silent.
When it finally buzzes, I nearly knock over my mug lunging for it.
Maren:I’m in Seattle. Can we talk?
I stare at the message for thirty seconds, my heart hammering. She’s here. She saw the poem. She came.
Calvin:Yes. Where?
Maren:Your apartment. I know where it is. Theo gave me the address.
