Page 457 of Call Me Baby 2: Side B

I swing my door open. “Unless your clothes mean too much, too.”

The ride back into Manhattan is forty-three minutes of windshield wipers slapping, holiday traffic, Andrew’s silence, and my hands strangling the steering wheel.

He’s not said a word,

much less looked at me.

That’s every confirmation I need to know I lost him for good.

Andrew looks when he’s mad.

Looks when he’s hurt.

Looks when he wants me.

Looks when he’s trying not to want me.

But now… he’s not looking, as if he’s pulled himself out of me by the roots.

When we reach the elevator,

the ride up is torture.

I’m clutching Andison to my chest,

his fairy lights still blinking,

as Andrew stands only three feet away.

Every floor we ascend

takes another thing from us.

Floor three, there goes his laugh.

Floor four, there goes his eye contact.

Floor five, there goes his hand on the small of my back.

Floor six, there goes him climbing on top of me at three in the morning, French kissing my neck, breath warm, body warmer.

Floor seven, there goes his whispers,

his groans,

his moans…

the way he says Allison, Sonny, angel, baby, and his lips grazing my skin when he sings to me.

Floor eight,

and I’m physically ill thinking about it.

Floor nine,

and my heart’s halfway down my spine,

clutching his pant leg, screaming,