“Nightmares.”
“Didn’t mean to put you through that.”
“I know.”
“You don’t have to worry anymore. You know I’m here. We can go back to pretending we don’t know each other.”
“Your favorite color is yellow, but you don’t like neon yellow.”
Aside from the slight twitch of her brow, I see nothing.
“That doesn’t mean anything,” she hollowly whispers.
“That means everything,” I say, filling that empty space.
She stays silent and I want to break her out of it, ask her questions to fill the void, but the moment is shattered. We part, my hand dropping fast, as a knock on the front door fills the quiet house.
“I have a really busy day tomorrow.” She crosses her arms against her chest, adding more distance between us, her expression blank. But I know what she’s saying without having to say it.Get out.
“Yeah, right. I’ll see you around?” I shouldn’t, but there’s a tinge of hopefulness with my question.
“Maybe.”Not reallyis what it sounds like, and my hope evaporates.
“Okay, good night, Josefine.” I flash her a smile and spin on my heel. I hear her say, “good night,” as I make it to the frontdoor. I hesitate, not walking forward, but I have nothing left to do here, so I force myself out.
She’s alive, that’s what you wanted. You touched her, that’s what you needed.
There’s nothing left between us.
6
JOSEFINE
I rereadthe phone number on the Post-it note that was left on my front door. Though I don’t need to keep looking at it because after four days, I’ve memorized it.
I should crumble it and throw it away like I had originally intended to do, but every time I go to do it, I can’t bring myself to get rid of it.
Especially because underneath the number, there’s a few words that I’ve also memorized.
If you need anything, I’m just a text or call away.
I’m so happy you’re here, Jos!
I’ve never been called Jos before, but I don’t mull over the nickname.
Dragging my fingers behind the Post-it, I feel the indent of the letters on the light-yellow paper. The black ink almost seeps into the back of the paper from the pressure of writing with the ballpoint pen.
Daniel must’ve left the note after I’d gone to bed, or some time super early because I never heard him pull into my driveway.
While I get the sentiment, I wish he’d stop doing this. He doesn’t know me, and knowing my favorite color isn’t going to change anything.
We’re strangers who ended up stumbling upon each other by accident. Sure, he pulled me back and he did what he thought he needed to do. I’m not dead; that should be enough for him.
At the sound of a door being opened, I fold and shove the Post-it note in my hoodie pocket and stand from the bench across the office.
Monica Jameson, the new Director of Women’s Swimming, steps out, a friendly smile greeting me. “Josefine Resendiz, it’s so good to finally meet you.”
I was genuinely shocked when I received an email from her a few months ago asking if she could meet me.
