The next southbound train isn’t due for another ten minutes, and so I pull out my phone and immediately open up my text message app and click on Alex’s name.
Alex (5:08 p.m.):<3
It’s the last message he sent me, nearly four hours ago now—just a heart emoji. I never had the chance to respond earlier, but even just seeing the text now seems to take the edge off the worst of my anxiety. I take a slow breath and then click on thephone icon to call him as I pull my feet up onto the bench.
It rings twice before he answers.
“Hey, Nico!” His voice surrounds me like a warm blanket, and I close my eyes and let the feeling settle.
“Hey, yeah, um—”
“Are you okay? What’s wrong? Where are you?” He must hear the hoarseness of my voice, because he cuts in before I can even start to tell him what’s going on.
I take a slow breath. The air isn’t quite as hot or stale now, though the acrid smell of exhaust fumes lingers. And suddenly, I want nothing more than to be at home, with him. “We finished with everything a bit ago,” I say. “I’m at the station in San Mateo, waiting for the next train.”
“Alright, okay. But that doesn’t answer my question. Are you okay?”
A tiny huff of a laugh escapes me. “You asked methreequestions! I answered the last one, which was the easiest.”
“Yeah, well, you should have answered them in order of importance,” he teases back, his tone playful but still worried.
I grumble a nonresponse and open my eyes to look down the train tracks. “I’m tired,” I say quietly, but I know he needs a little more than that, so I continue. “I started feeling exhausted and lightheaded when I left the gallery. Um, I think it’s just from all the stress and going nonstop, and today and yesterday were busy, you know? But I made it to the station, and... and now that you’re on the phone with me, I’m feeling a lot better.”
It’s the truth—I am feeling better just hearing his voice. But it’s not the whole truth, and maybe that makes me an awful boyfriend.
Even if Iwantedto tell him about my mom, about how sharp the reminder of her abandonment has been stinging, about how deeply bone-tired I am, especially with all the extra stress of working so fucking much—which I don’t—I’m not sure I couldanyway. He’s been so happy lately—all cute and lovey and sappy, holding me longer when we’re in bed together, sending me those little heart emojis all the time. I wouldhateto see his joy drained for even a second.
I close my eyes and lean back against the bench again, one arm wrapped around my knees.
The line is silent for a few seconds, and I feel my shoulders tightening. But then he says, his voice soft with concern, “Do you want me to come meet you? I’m at home, so it’ll take me some time to get there. But I can leave right now, and you won’t have to be alone.”
It’s nearly an hour by train from San Jose to San Mateo, and I know if I need him to, that’s exactly what he’ll do—leave home right now, catch the first train he can, and meet me here. He’s amazing like that.
“I love you,” I say.
“That’s sweet of you. But that doesn’t answer my question,again.”
I smile weakly and shake my head. “I know. I’m thinking.”
“I’m leaving now. Are you safe?”
My heart does something funny, rejecting all the negative stuff that’s floating around in my head and replacing it with gratitude and love for my wonderful boyfriend. “I’m safe,” I say quietly. “Don’t come, please. The train will be here in just a few minutes, and I just need... I just need you to stay on the phone with me for a bit.”
“I can do that,” he says without hesitation. “Oh, you’ll totally appreciate this! So, I was on campus earlier studying with Garrett and Parker, and we decided to go to that taco place, you know, the one with the giant cactus mural on the wall...”
I lower my head to my knees and listen as he talks, taking me through most of his afternoon and evening. When the train arrivesa few minutes later, I stand up without swaying at all, and I find a seat in the closest car. Alex keeps talking the whole time—the entire fifty-minute train ride. It’s exactly what I need, and somehow, he knows it.
It’s after ten when the train pulls up at Diridon Station in San Jose, and I see him standing there before it even stops. He’s still holding the phone up to his ear. Our eyes meet through the window on the train car, and he smiles a big, gorgeous smile that makes my heart flutter.
“Hi,” he says into the phone, like we haven’t been talking to each other for nearly an hour.
A smile finds me, too, and I shake my head as I stare at him, a million things running through my head.
What are you doing here?
You didn’t have to come.
God, it’s good to see you.
