Page 200 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

Andrew stands next to me,

shoulder grazing mine.

He flips the laptop around,

signs with one swipe of his finger,

then spins it back toward me.

I’m reading every word,

digesting nothing,

trying not to sweat.

But the panic collapses my senses as my eyes skim each clause, flashes of the last half hour strobing fast⁠—

laughter circling the table,

stolen glances across the felt,

jukebox songs,

barely-there touches⁠—

then it hits me fast

that something’s missing.

I click under the last clause

and tap the return key.

A new line blinks, waiting.

I type out one more.

“Don’t think I don’t see you sneakin’ shit in, Sonny.”

My fingers slide off the keys when I’m done. Now it feels finished. “So I just… scribble my name somewhere?”

He leans over, arm caging me in, chest pressed to my back. His eyes catch the line I left behind:

Don’t fucking die on me.

His gaze hits the side of my face.

I stare forward at the screen, rigid.

One glance up and he’ll know it isn’t a joke. It’s me begging.

He shifts behind me, the table wobbling under his weight. “Sign there. Right under me,” he says. “Use your finger. It don’t gotta be perfect.”

His warm breath tangles in my hair as I drag my finger across the pad, and the letters come out messy, shaking, but they’re mine.

The screen disappears when Andrew snaps the laptop shut. He hooks the stool and spins me to face him. Both hands catch my cheeks, and his forehead dips to mine.

His breath’s rough, ragged, spilling relief across my lips after months of running through every wrong turn to get us here.