1 New Voicemail.
Grumpy
1:44 p.m.
With my lip trembling, I hit play, then turn away from the others and press the phone to my ear.
My eyes fall closed as I listen to his familiar low drawl. God, I’ve missed that voice. I try to take in everything he’s saying, but there’s so much.
Internship ... Los Angeles ... chance of a lifetime for me and Mom...
It’s too much, and my heart keeps pounding...
Wasn’t supposed to start until Friday ... got a call this morning ...
It’s overwhelming.
Going to the community college for a little while to save money ... majoring in Health Journalism ...
And his apologies.
I’m so sorry, Blue ...
They’re the worst.
I wanted to tell you ... saw the pain in your eyes ... didn’t know what to do ...
I rub my chest with my fingers, unable to stop the throbbing.
Give you the space you need ... shit ... just so sorry ...
“You’re sorry?” I shake my head, gripping the phone tighter. “You don’t need to be sorry,” I whisper, a tear slipping past my bottom lashes. “You deserve this. So much.”
My hands won’t stay still as I call him back, and an anchor plummets to the pit of my stomach when it goes straight to voicemail. It’s too late. He’s on the plane. But as I stare at my phone through glassy vision, my brows knit.Too late?What would I do if he did answer? Beg him to come back to me? Tell him I was wrong, that I do need him after all, and his dreams can wait?
But then where would that leave me? Where would that leavehim, when he’s come so far? When he’sgoingso far?
Angry with myself for wishing I could do just that, I pull in a sharp breath, shove my phone into my back pocket, and try to pretend I’m not falling apart all over again.
By the time I step into my bedroom and close the door, I’m exhausted. From laughing, from crying, from filling up on soy ice cream and spending so much energy trying to understand how one day could be so happy and so sad at the same time.
I can’t grasp it.
I’ve graduated high school. I’m on the brink of my future, with every door opening. Yet closed doors litter my wake, and my past is a moving, breathing entity beating inside my heart.
I’m inches away from the solace of my bed when I glimpse it. Bright blue, a small Post-it sticks to the outside of my window. My breath catches in my chest. I move toward it slowly, then carefully peel it off the glass.
This isn’t goodbye, hippie. I meant it when I said you’re it for me.
Next time you see me, I’ll be ready for you.
P.S. Practice makes perfect.
Below the message are scribbled drawings of a flower, a swirl, and a heart. I choke out a laugh through my tears, clutching the note to my chest, right beside Mom’s and my birthstones.
I don’t want him to go. If I had it my way, he’d patiently stay within arm’s reach for as long as it takes while I work on myself. But I’m not the only story here, and Joshua deserves to find his own way as much as I deserve to find mine. Maybe this is it—my shot.Ourshot. To figure out how to do this life thing on our own. To prove to ourselves that we’ve got this and see what we’re really capable of when we don’t have anyone to fall back on but ourselves.
The sun glitters through my window, warming my skin, and I can’t help but think of Mom.
