My phone rings as if the heavens actually listened. And when I see her name on the screen, I sit up and answer, “Hello?” Too fast. Too high-pitched to sound like I wasn’t waiting around for this call. I clear my throat and lower my voice. “Hello?”
Laughter trills through the speaker like music to my ears. “Are you okay, Poet?”
Despite myself, I smile. “I’m good, fine, never better.” The foot I shove in my mouth clams me up, but getting out of sounding like a raging idiot is a different story. Pushing up to my feet, I sink into the couch. Dropping my head into my hand, I ask, “How are you?”
My pulse quickens in the silence.
She says, “I got my stuff without issue, and now I’m in a hotel room lying on top of the bed and savoring every second of being free.”
We didn’t discuss the plan for when she left. It wasn’t mine to have a vote or decide what happens next in her life. I’m not owed an explanation, and I have no right to demand a say, but hearing that she checked into a hotel still comes as a surprise. And stings, though logic tells me I don’t have a right to that reaction either.
What do I have with her?
Where do I stand in her eyes?
After one night of reuniting, where do we go from here?
“Do you have a nice view?” What the fuck am I saying? I’m not banned from broaching important topics, but what issues cross the line?
“Umm. It’s okay. I wasn’t thinking about the request when I checked in. I was just happy I got away with it.”
“I am, too.” I finally feel the relief that she exhibits in her tone. “I’m proud of you.” It was the simplest phrase, four words that hit deeper than she could have realized when she said them. Saying them to her comes easily when I decenter my own concerns. I am proud of her. It’s interesting to root for a person I haven’t known as long as some people in my life, but the connection runs so deeply that I’ve been fully invested in her success since the moment we met. She deserves it. She needs this.And I need her.
“Really?” The tone strikes a note of surprise. “You mean that?”
“Really, Spark.” I stand at the window, watching the city blanketed in fresh snow, and smile at her voice. “I mean it. What you’ve done wasn’t easy, but you did it.”
I can hear a soft breath exhaled, reaching the receiver. “Thanks.”
“Now that you’re free to do as you please”—I walk into the kitchen to find a snack—“what happens next?”
“Are you still hungry for ramen?”
Victory runs through me like she called my final bingo number, and I rub my stomach. “Starving. Want to meet at the restaurant?”
“Five minutes tops.” The slide of her legs across the sheets of the hotel bed scratches through the phone before she adds, “It will take about twenty to get there, though. Meet you out front?”
“No, wait inside where it’s warm. I’ll see you soon.”
I rush to get dressed. I’m not sure where in the city she’s staying, but I know I’m not close to the restaurant. Grabbing my wallet and coat, I stuff my phone into my pocket and head out, adding the extra layer during the elevator ride down. The lobby is empty, but the street seems more so. I shove my handsin my pockets, keeping my chin down as the snow I marveled at minutes prior pelts my face now that I’m outside.
When I reach the top step of the underground station, I can hear that familiar rattling on the tracks. “Shit.” I dash down, jumping over the remaining three steps to catch the end of the train as it disappears down the tunnel. Worse, it’s not running its regular schedule today because of the holiday. “I should have caught a cab,” I grumble as I walk down to lean against the wall and wait for the next train.
Not much scares me. Not after my childhood or the rougher teen years. It wasn’t until I was sixteen that I realized this is it for me unless I make a change. No one was going to help me except me. A professor who showed interest in a kid standing in front of the Winnie the Pooh exhibit at The New York Public Library, writing stories on a pad in pencil. If a guy could write about stuffed animals coming to life, I could write fiction inspired by my own life.
That young professor became my mentor, wrangled a tuition scholarship, and shook my hand at graduation. He was the first and only person I texted when I got my book deal because I knew he not only cared about my writing and career but also about me. That’s not who comes to mind when a group of guys, maybe kids, dressed in large puffer jackets and headphones over their heads, but only covering one ear, start causing a ruckus—banging on the bars with a metal pipe, getting in the face of a guy down the way, and not leaving when they reach the exit.Sosie does.
I’m a big guy, but there’s only one me and three of them heading my way. I start walking, but isolating myself further from the entrance turnstiles isn’t a good idea either.Fuck me.I turn back, coming face-to-face with the jokers who think they own the place. The few feet in the bottleneck of this part of the station don’t allow either them or me enough room to shuffleout of the way. So I head down and keep my eyes on the ground between them and keep walking.
“Watch where you’re going, punk-ass.” He checks my shoulder before I can angle to avoid it, the impact forcing me to look back as the aggression sinks in, and the muscle twinges.
The one shouting earlier, his voice echoing down the empty tracks, eyes me with ill intent and a snarl twisted on his upper lip. Dropping his head to the side, he glares as if I offended him personally. Wagering forward, he pulls at his coat like I’ve fucked it up. “What’d you say?” There’s no room for error. The matches in his eyes are begging to be struck. I say the wrong thing, and no good comes of this.
I shrug, an attempt to keep things casual. “I didn’t say anything. Just keeping to myself and waiting for the subway.” I turn my back and start walking again, keeping my pace steady and not showing fear to avoid being their prey. If not me, someone’s going to fall victim since they’re obviously looking for a fight.
“I swear I heard you say something to my friend here.” His voice grows distant, so I keep walking, ignoring the situation instead of feeding it.
Despite the adrenaline pumping through my veins and muscles stiffening, I hold myself together. Sosie is waiting for me. That alone is worth letting this bullshit roll off my back and keep moving.
