“Give him the contract,” she continues.
“Let him in on your terms.”
My throat locks up.
“If he still shows up?” she says,
“That’s not the end, but a beginning.”
My heart's doing Morse code,
spelling out a stupid word.
A word calledmaybe.
“You don’t need to choose between safety and heart,” she adds. “You need to find out if he’s willing to meet you where you are.”
Meet you where you are.
The line hits. Hurts. Because it feels good.
And I don’t trust anything that feels good.
“And if he does?”
There’s a long pause.
“Some people take the wheel,” she says. “Others sit in the passenger seat to hold your hand.”
Silence again.
Door. Flings. Open.
Curtain whips back.
Light explodes.
And there’s Celie,
all flared nostrils and rage,
arms lifted as if she’s about to cast a spell,
and possibly steal my soul.
“I knew it!” she yells.
I scream, entire body flails,
knees knocking porcelain.
The phone slips,
hits the tub,
andclatters.
Celie gasps, offended and betrayed.
