There’s that word again:pathetic.
Seems to be a real theme with me lately.
I just don’t understand.
How did we get here?
“Steph!”mymomcallsup the stairs. “There’s someone at the door for you!”
Oh, my God.
I sit up from where I’d been slumped over my laptop.
Is he here?
Shoving my rolling chair away from my desk, I stumble, nearly tripping on my pajama pants as I attempt to get up. Hope and relief flood my system as I dash into my bathroom to check my face and fix my hair. I haven’t heard from Riley all week, withonly a brief email the one before. I thought for sure he’d forgotten about today.
But he didn’t.
He's here.
Running a brush quickly through my hair, I frown down at my ratty tank top. There’s a bleach stain on one boob, and the hem is frayed, hence its relegation to loungewear. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone, let alonehim, tonight.
“Steph!” my mom shouts again.
“Coming!”
I dart into the hallway and thunder down the stairs, taking them way too quickly in my haste.
He’s here.
He’shere.
I’m so excited that I catch my hip roughly on the banister as I hit the landing. It’ll be a bruise tomorrow, but I barely feel it as I swing around the corner . . . and come to an abrupt halt.
Because my mom is pressing the front door closed.
And the entry is empty.
In her hands, she holds a bouquet of roses. She glances up at me, where I’ve frozen one stair below the landing.
“Look at this, sweetie. Isn’t that sweet of Riley?” she asks.
All I can do is nod, avoiding her eyes as I take the last few steps to join her on the main floor. She passes the flowers into my arms and pats me on the cheek before returning to the family room,where the TV blares. Sounds like my dad’s watching basketball, ironically.
I gaze down at the arrangement. Twelve long-stem roses and a scattering of baby’s breath. They’re lovely, but also … cliché.
There’s a note tucked into the cellophane wrap.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Sunshine.
Xo, R
That’s … it?
I mean, I guess I should be glad he remembered what day it is, but … this all feels kind of like an afterthought. Last year, Riley took me out to a national park where they’d created a skating rink through the woods. The trail was lit up with little white twinkle lights. We had hot chocolate and then cuddled up by a bonfire before stopping at our spot on the ridge on the way home to stargaze.
I make my way slowly into the kitchen and grab a vase for the flowers from the cabinet beside the sink. Climbing the stairs again, I thumb the delicate necklace at my throat. The one he’d given me that night under the stars. The small sun charm is warm in my hand. I glide my thumb across the back of the metal, feeling for the ridges of our engraved initials.
