Page 91 of First-Time Caller
“You look like your mom,” she says quietly. “Same eyes.”
I blow out a breath. “She’s a lot nicer than I am.”
I busy myself with setting up the audio channels for the show, trying not to let my mind trip back to my least favorite memory. A hospital room crowded with flowers. My mom in a bed with too-white sheets, petals in her hair.
I wish I could talk about my mom without feeling like my chest is caving in, but the worry and the panic are tightly bound with everything else. I still haven’t figured out how to tug myself out of it. It’s been so long since I’ve tried to open those doors that I’m afraid I’ve forgotten how.
But maybe I could try? Lucie tries, even when it’s hard.
Maybe I could try.
“She, um—it’s a celebration trip.” I explain, my heart pounding in my chest. The words feel clumsy on my tongue. I don’t know how to talk about it because I’ve never talked about it. “They planned it during my mom’s last round of chemo. The doctors said it would help if she had something to look forward to.”
I try to untangle a stubborn cord half-hidden behind one of the monitors, fumbling with the end of it.
“She’s better now?” I can feel Lucie looking at me, but I refuse to meet her eyes. “Your mom?”
I yank on the cord and something beneath the desk jerks. “Yeah. For now. But I try not to—she’s had cancer a couple of times.”
Lucie’s quiet while I finish untangling the cord and loop it around the back of the monitor. If Eileen or Maggie needs a reason for our delayed start, I’m prepared to blame it on this cord. I’m counting to ten in my head, visualizing a sunset over the ocean or sheep over a fence post or whatever it is the hospital-appointed therapist told me to do when the anxiety felt like a noose around my neck.
Content to compartmentalize.
“You didn’t want to go?” Lucie finally asks. The frantic race of my heart settles a bit at the sound of her voice.
“Go where?”
“Acadia.” She leans back into my space and tucks my phone in the front pocket of my long-sleeved shirt. I stop what I’m doing. “There was a message from your mom. She said she missed you and was hoping you might be able to make it next year.” A smile. “I think your dad might be making an annual pilgrimage to the mushrooms.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” I straighten my already straight keyboard and flip a page in my notebook. “I wasn’t able to make it this year. Too much going on.” I hand Lucie her headphones. We are now about six minutes late for the broadcast. I can’t believe Maggie hasn’t come barreling through the window yet.
“With the station?”
I nod. “Yeah, it’s tough to get coverage and Maggie has been on me about ratings.” She hasn’t actually said anything for three days, but it’s a good enough excuse. “The timing wasn’t right. I couldn’t make It work.”
Lucie nods. “Okay.”
I settle into the sounds of familiarity, packing away all my buzzy, anxious feelings. I’ll turn them over later when I’m alone and not overly aware of Lucie right next to me, slowly unwrapping a tiny chocolate mint.
“It was cute, though,” I murmur. When I feel shaky and exposed, it’s easy to distract myself with things that feel good. And from the moment I met her and made an inappropriate comment about dental instruments, Lucie has always felt like something good. Like the very best thing.
Lucie looks up, a chocolate held between thumb and forefinger. I tug on my headphones and Eileen bellows, “FINALLY.” She starts to count down from ten.
“What was cute?” Lucie asks.
“When you were jealous.”
Lucie rolls her eyes and pops her chocolate in her mouth, a smile curling at the corner of her lips. I want to feel the shape of it against my fingertips. I want to bite the edge of it.
I’m afraid my crush has slipped into an infatuation.
I don’t want to fight it anymore. I don’t think I can.
“It’s cute that’s what you think that was,” she whispers back.
“Don’t bullshit a bullshitter, Lucie Stone.”
She’s still laughing when the red light above the door flicks on.
