“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Her words come carefully, measured. “You two have already broken up twice, and it was brutal both times. Are you sure that you can trust him with your heart this?—”
“Yes.” I stare at her, meeting her eyes without wavering. “I can.”
She sucks in that lip and nods, something shifting in her expression—acceptance, maybe, or resignation. “Okay.”
“Where’s my phone?”
“Your purse is in the living room,” Alexis says, already turning. “Hold on.”
Each second she’s gone feels like a day, a long unending nightmare where I get to imagine Oliver driving over the Pine Island bridge one last time, heading towards a future without me. My heart hammers against my ribs. I pick at the edge of my blanket, then smooth it down, then pick at it again.
Alexis finally returns with my phone, and I eagerly snatch it from her, nearly dropping it because my hands are shaking. It’s an effort to even type in my passcode—my thumb misses twice before I get it right—and find his name, and once I do my panic catches up. I’m about to call Oliver... and ask him to take me back.
It’s something I never imagined myself doing, my pride a buoy that I’ve clung to through the hardest of times. Even the biggest heartbreak of my life, when Oliver ended things years ago, wasn’t enough to inspire me to get down on my knees.
It’s different now, though. This isn’t me begging. This is me being honest, me saying all the things that I’ve been too afraid to say. It’s huge. Scary.
It’s the most important phone call of my life.
Taking a deep breath that doesn’t quite fill my lungs, I click on his name... and wait.
It rings once... twice...
“Hi,” he slowly answers, voice rough.
The familiarity of his voice makes me tremble. “Hi,” I whisper. “Um, I just got back and I… I’m having a flare, but… I really need to see you. Can you come over?”
I tense, every muscle in my body going tight, ready for the “no” that can shatter my world.
“Of course,” he says, and something in my chest loosens. “I want to talk to you too. Do you—do you need anything? What can I bring you?”
Tears run down my cheeks, hot and fast. He’s coming over! It’s no guarantee that we’ll work things out, but it’s promising. It’s something.
“Nothing.” I sniffle, wiping at my face with the back of my hand. “I just want to see you.”
“I want to see you too, Devin.” His voice is gravelly and strained. Just from the sound of it, I can tell he’s been doing about as well as I have since we last saw each other. “I’ll leave now. Be there soon.”
“See you.” Hanging up, I look around at my friends, all of them watching me with varying degrees of hope and worry. “Okay. He’s on his way over.”
There are nods and encouraging smiles, but the lingering doubt is undeniable. They’re only trying to protect me, though, like my mom and sister, so I don’t hold it against them. I’m merely grateful for them.
“We can clean up and then give you some privacy.” Hannah pushes her glasses up her nose, the frames sliding back into place.
“No, don’t clean up. You’ve done so much already.”
“We have to clean up,” Maya protests, gesturing toward the kitchen. “We were meal prepping in your kitchen, and the laundry?—”
“This is what it looks like when I’m having a flare. Like a bomb exploded in my house.” Originally, I had planned on catching up on the two laundry piles on my couch once I got home, sorting through them with music playing, but that’s life. Messy and sometimes covered in clothes that have been sitting there so long you no longer remember if they’re dirty or clean.
Everyone laughs in appreciation, the sound soft and knowing. If it isn’t one chronic pain crafters’ place one week, it’s another’s. We all take our turns at being bedridden, our chores, family, and work responsibilities falling to the wayside around us.
“I want him to see what the hardest part of my life is like,” I add, my voice steadier now.
Alexis nods in understanding and touches my arm, her palm warm through my sleeve. “I’ll text later to check on you. Call if you need anything.”
“I will,” I smile, and mean it. “I promise.”
They say their goodbyes and leave the bedroom as a group, their footsteps retreating, voices fading until the front door clicks shut. The silence echoing behind them is profound, filling every corner of the room. I lay back down, fighting the urge to get up and check my reflection or make sure the sink isn’t full of dirty dishes. My body aches with the desire to move, to fix, to present the polished version of myself that I’ve spent so long perfecting.
