I’m almost at the school when I finish my drink. I slow my pace and grab my phone to message my friend for Julius, but as I’m unlocking the screen, a call comes through.
“Wow, that was quick. Since I doubt you were waiting for my call, I’m gonna take a guess you were working your way through your digital black book.”
I laugh, even though Fran’s words cut through me a little harsher than usual.
“You’re calling twice in one week? Are you getting bored with Europe?”
She laughs, and I imagine her sitting cross-legged on a pillow on the balcony of her Paris apartment, the breeze ruffling her short hair while she leans back against the wall with her eyes closed.
“You know I’ll never get sick of Europe. I’m thinking of moving to London, actually.”
“Wow, really? But you hate the rain.”
“I know, but…anyway, I’m coming back in a few weeks, and I’d love to see you and George.”
“George will go crazy when he finds out. He really misses you, you know?”
“Just him?”
My smile deflates. “Fran…”
“I know, I know, I was only joking. There’s something I want to talk to you about, but I want to do it in person. I’ll let you know when I have my ticket, okay?”
“Okay, see you soon.”
I drop the empty coffee cup in the trash and pocket my phone. I love Fran, but sometimes…it’s unfair how she hints at wanting something that she let go of years ago.
Whatever she wants to talk about, I hope it’s not about giving us a second chance.
Five years ago, when I was hurting from missing her and being a new full-time single parent, I would have given us another chance.
Now? I love her, but I’m no longer in love with her. If I ever was. Sometimes I wonder if I was just in love with the idea of us.
We dreamed of creating art together, raising a family, and having the stability neither of us had growing up. That dream shattered when she left.
Besides, there’s someone else I’d rather get close to. Someone who is probably arriving to pick up his daughter from school.
Cars are filling all the spaces as parents meet in their friend groups.
I don’t want to miss Harrison, so I purposefully stay away from everyone.
“Fletcher Crawford, now there’s a sight for sore eyes.”
Just what I fucking need after a call from Fran.
I put on a fake smile and turn around.
“Jake. How are you?” I ask only out of politeness.
He leans against a nearby tree and casually puts his hands in his pockets.
“I’m much better now that I’ve seen you.”
I don't know how to respond. Jake and I had a casual thing going on, but it ended months ago, and if I'm honest, I'm not in the mood to reconnect.
“You’re a hard guy to get hold of,” he says.
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
