Page 44 of All The Ways to Miss You

I peer at the ceiling, searching my memory. “Um, something about partying tonight?” A ridge forms in my brow.

“Not even close.” She crosses her arms.

I let out a defeated breath. “Sorry, I . . . I’m just not myself this week.”

What I can’t tell her is despite learning about Evan’s past, I’ve been busy dreaming of him. One minute I’m at my desk, constructing an email, and the next thing I know, I’m staring at a blank wall and twenty minutes have passed. Yesterday, Linden caught me spinning in my office chair and humming to myself while I was supposed to be in a meeting with the marketing department. Needless to say, he wasn’t amused.

“You’re right. You suck this week.”

“I agree. So, how’s Paul?” I ask, desperate for a change in subject.

She raises both hands and slaps her sides, her voice rising. “That’s what I’ve been trying to talk to you about,” she says through gritted teeth.

“Tell me again. I’m listening. I promise.” We scale the stairs.

Over drinks, I listen to Aggie for two hours. She gossips about a friend who’s in some strange Bermuda love triangle with two boys. She then moves on to a historical discussion on Amelia Earhart, someone I’ll need to research later to remember. Then she steers our conversation to a new hair salon that serves bottomless pink champagne.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come out?” Aggie stands outside my door. She and Lou are attending a late comedy show.

“Nah, I have to⁠—”

“I know, I know. You have to train for the marathon. Blah, blah, make up an excuse, blah.” She tosses a dismissive hand and steps away.

Though tonight, I’m not running. I need time alone. Not to torment myself over Evan—my heart isn’t broken, after all, it’s only confused. I’m sane enough to grasp that I barely know the guy, but this fact doesn’t shake my resolve. I level with myself. This crush is normal.

The saddest part is Evan’s the first person I’ve connected to in this way. Maybe it’s because of our similar baggage, though vastly different if I’m to believe Lou’s gossip. Still, it’s enough to understand we’ve both been so traumatized that we’ve carried the repercussions for years.

When I consider sharing my secret with Evan, I brush off the ludicrous thought. Allowing anyone to know my battle isn’t an option. When I’m ready, I’ll tell Aggie everything first. She’s stood by my side through every depressed, down-in-the-dumps day. There are too many to count, and one severe panic attack that sent me to the ER. With her sunny disposition on life, she’s brought me back from dancing on a razor’s edge, and for that loyalty, she deserves my truth.

In my pajamas, I sit on my bed. A pillow rests on my thighs with my laptop on top. A light hangs above, brightening my workspace. I’m reading a news article when a new email alert dings. When I see the sender’s name, my body recoils.

My mother’s been doing her homework. She’s harassed me with calls, messages, and texts for weeks. Fed up, I blocked her number. Now this? She’s emailed my work account, so now she knows where I live and work. It’ll only be a matter of time before she and my dad appear on my doorstep. A headache forms.

My finger slides over the track pad, moving the cursor. The title of the email reads, We need to talk ASAP.

“Not anytime soon.” I checkmark the email, select the Trash button, and click Enter. A pop-up box appears, asking if I’m sure I want to delete.

“I’m sure!” I yell at the screen and tap the Continue key three extra times.

When a knock sounds at my door, I pause, and a knot of tension forms in the back of my neck. I lean over and glance down the hallway, through the living room, and to the front door.

There’s another knock. My back tightens. My first thought is my parents are already here. I know it’s unlikely, considering the timing, but the fear of facing them plagues me.

Setting my computer aside, I slide off the bed and make my way to the front door on tiptoe. I place my eye to the peephole and peer through. On the other side, an enormous blue eye widens below a wiry gray eyebrow. The eye eases away, revealing a face I recognize—Mr. Gusterson. I exhale and open the door.

“Here to fix the shower,” he says.

His hand grips Evan’s toolbox at his side. It probably weighs more than him. In fact, he’s favoring that side, one shoulder and hip drop lower. I note his brown robe added meat to his bony structure, whereas tonight he’s wearing denim overalls. They hang on his pointy shoulders with one strap sliding off as if dangling from a hanger. His shirt buttons are misaligned and his neckline askew. I glance down and find him wearing socks with holes in the big toe. When he wiggles them, I hide my smile.

“But it’s ten o’clock.”

“You want it fixed or not?”

I do want it fixed. Not wanting to miss the opportunity, I step aside, inviting him in. “Let me show you⁠—”

“I know where.” He waves me off, but I watch him as he stumbles for the bathroom.

Before I close the door, I scan the hallway for Evan, wondering if this is some sort of joke. Until now, he’s handled all issues related to the apartment. And there have been many—the air conditioner, the heat, the garbage disposal, and the icemaker. If it could break, it’s broken. Sometimes multiple times. He’s come to my rescue every time.