Page 96 of Smoke and Glitter

I close my mouth.

"There's still a signature missing," I say. "That's why I'm calling."

Another pause.

"What do you need from me?"

The question is so fucking simple I almost laugh.

"A signature. I'll send you the dissolution paperwork."

He exhales. I can picture him doing it even though I haven't seen him in years.

"Sam, I really thought that was done."

Every muscle across my shoulders tightens. I know what he thought. I know what I had to deal with after he stopped paying attention. I know what it cost me. I know what else he took while he was busy not looking. My finger presses into the edge of Autumn's page. Come back to the signature.

"I need it finished now."

My voice sounds calmer than I feel. He's quiet again.

Then, "Okay. I'll have my lawyer look at it."

The next line is already there.

"That's fine. Have him look. I'll send everything today."

He doesn't answer immediately. My heart is beating hard enough that I can feel it in my jaw. Then he says my name again.

"Sam."

I close my eyes. Here we go.

"I know I should've called you a long time ago."

My hand curls against the desk. Three years. Three fucking years, and it's still not enough. Not even close. But it is enough to make every question I've refused to ask line up at once. Why her? How long? Did you ever give a shit about me? Was any of it real? Did she love you? Did you love her? The page sits under my hand.

If he apologizes, do not spend it on making him sorrier. You want a signature, not an apology.

He keeps talking.

"I handled everything wrong."

I could make him keep going. One question and he'd either give me what I've wanted for years or prove there was never anything worth waiting for. Neither one gets Pilsen open. I look at Autumn's page.

"I'm not calling about that."

The line goes quiet. I don't feel better after saying it. Maybe I'm not supposed to.

"I'm calling about the company," I continue. "I'll send the paperwork. Have your lawyer look at it and get back to me."

"Sam, I'm trying to say I'm sorry."

My hand tightens again. Every part of me that has been waiting three years leans toward it. I let the silence sit. Then I say, "I heard you." That's all.

Not it's okay.

Not I forgive you.