“I’ll try,” I promised absentmindedly.
“They’d be fools not to promote you, honey.” There was a rustling of papers in the background, like Mom had just cracked open the book she wrote all the family recipes down in. “I have to go, but I’ll call you next week. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
The line waned before clicking off completely, and with it, so did my remaining energy.
After climbing three flights of stairs, I reached the apartment I shared with Macey. Sure, the floors creaked everywhere you stepped and the wallpaper was fading, but to me, it looked lived in. Like home.
A row of colorful rugs warmed my feet as I walked through the living room and into the kitchen. Even though I liked my room, the kitchen was my favorite part of our apartment. Open shelves that displayed our thrifted dishes, a fridge that lookedlike a rainbow, considering it was covered in sticky notes and postcards, and a dining nook perfect for two.
I wouldn’t be home long. Xavier and I had planned a date night. We were going to have dinner at that tiny Italian place in Lincoln Park, the one with string lights on the patio and candlelit tables that made everything feel a little cinematic. He’d even mentioned grabbing dessert after, something “spontaneous,” which usually meant overpriced gelato from that place he liked.
Maybe this was what I needed after a boring day at work, coupled with the weekly challenge of a phone conversation with Mom.
I curled my hair, then changed outfits twice before settling on the sage green dress he once said brought out my eyes. Lip gloss, earrings, my favorite rings. I wanted to feel beautiful—not in a trying-too-hard kind of way, but in ayou’re worth showing up forkind of way. I lit my lavender candle and stood by the window for a second, watching the sun begin to dip behind the buildings.
My phone buzzed on the dresser. I expected a “be there in ten” text, not a phone call, but this worked too.
I smiled without thinking and picked it up. “Hey, I’m basically ready. Just trying to decide on which shoes to wear.”
“Hey, baby,” he said, and something about his tone made my stomach dip. “I, uh…I’m really sorry, but I’ve gotta take a rain check on tonight.”
My fingers went numb. “Wait, what?”
“My neighbor’s dog got out,” he said quickly, like he’d been rehearsing it. “She asked for help finding him. He’s a rescue and super nervous. I couldn’t say no.”
I blinked. “The dog.”
“Yeah, he freaked out and ran. It didn’t feel right to leave the neighbor hanging, you know?”
Right. Because nothing says urgent like chasing a hypothetical skittish dog fifteen minutes before dinner.
“Sure,” I said, voice tight. “That makes sense. Gotta help the neighborhood pets.”
“Thanks for being chill about it,” he said, not hearing me at all. “I’ll text you later, promise.”
“Of course,” I murmured, already pulling the phone away from my ear.
The call ended. I stood there in the middle of my bedroom, fully dressed up, mascara perfect, heart sinking like it always did when I realized I was the only one who ever looked forward to these nights. Like maybe I was the only one trying.
I stared at my reflection. I looked nice. I looked like someone worth showing up for.
And yet.
My eyes drifted toward the kitchen, to the freezer. I knew there was a pint of sea salt caramel ice cream in there calling my name. I could already see it: me in my dress, eating straight from the carton, watching something I didn’t care about while slowly unraveling inside.
I sighed. Took a breath. Then I kicked off my heels, grabbed my cardigan, and slipped on my sneakers instead.
If I was going to be stood up, I might as well get some fresh air and walk off the frustration.
I didn’t have a destination in mind, just a vague desire to feel the night air on my cheeks and hear something other than the hollow echo of disappointment in my chest. My sneakers hit the pavement in a steady rhythm, each step dragging a little of the heaviness out of me.
The city was settling into its evening glow with streetlights blinking on, cars rolling by in lazy waves, couples holding hands as they passed by in comfortable silence. I pulled my cardigantighter, not just against the wind, but the gnawing ache of feeling let down.
I walked past the park where Landon and I used to sneak ice cream after his shifts. Past the corner bookstore I hadn’t stepped into since college. My brain tried to go to places it shouldn’t, attempting to compare the warmth I once felt with Landon to the confusion I often felt with Xavier.
But I shoved the thought aside. It was just the nostalgia of seeing Landon. That’s all.
