Page 31 of First-Time Caller
He tears a sheet of paper from the notepad in front of him, crumples it into a ball, and throws it at the window. It barely makes a sound, then lands on the floor next to what looks like . . . a doughnut-shaped dog toy?
I look back at Aiden. He’s writing on the notepad with his head ducked down. Then he lifts his face, gives me a devastating half smile, and holds up his sign.
COME HERE, it says.
I point at my chest.
His smile twitches wider.Who else?that face says. He scribbles on his notepad some more.
COME HERE, PLEASE
Thepleaseis underlined twice. I stand on shaky legs and pretend he’s not watching me the whole time I wander my way over to the booth. There’s a little glowing red right above the entrance. A fadedHeartstringssticker stuck in the middle of the tiny window. I try the handle and the door swings open.
Cold air and stale coffee. Warm flannel. Evergreen with a hint of brown sugar. Everything is buzzing in here, machines and microphones and an old coffeepot balanced on top of a file cabinet with anEAT BERTHA’S MUSSELSbumper sticker slapped on the side. It makes me smile to see it. A reminder that my city is Aiden’s city and we might have something in common after all. Like a love for shellfish that’s been cooked in sixteen pounds of butter.
Aiden and his broad shoulders take up the entirety of the desk he’s sitting at, his long legs pushed out under the table. He waves me in as he tinkers with something on the audio controls in front of him, sliding one thing up while simultaneously sliding another thing down. It all looks very complicated, but then I remind myself I repair heavy machinery for a living and curiosity tugs me closer.
I’ve always loved learning how things work. Loved examining all the bits and pieces beneath the surface. When I was a kid, I was always taking things apart just so I could put them together again. The television remote. The toaster. Grayson’s Ricochet remote-controlled car. It calmed me down to understand how something worked. I liked knowing that if something broke, I could look at the parts that were left and figure out how to make it whole again.
Much to the disgruntled amusement of my parents.
And Grayson.
Especially after I discovered his Spider-Man collection.
“That was very brave of you,” Aiden says, watching me from the corner of his eye, talking to someone on the other end of his headphones. His voice sounds different here. Deeper. More assured. Maybe it’s because he’s channeling his on-air persona or maybe he’s just more comfortable with some warm-up time. Whatever it is, he’s more at ease here than he was in the lobby of the station.
Aiden reaches for something and I watch the way his arms flex beneath the sleeves of his hoodie. The graceful way his big hands work at the controls of the audio board. I flush when I realize I’m watching the way his body moves, grateful for the low light and the cramped, crowded room. He picks up a pair of headphones and holds them out to me.
I point to my chest again. He rolls his eyes and leans farther across his desk, nudging my arm with them.
I curl my hand around the headband and his thumb brushes briefly across my knuckles. His eyes are examining some nonexistent point by the far wall, head cocked slightly to the left as he listens. He blinks and his eyes clear, finding mine. He nods at the headset in my hand.
Put them on, he mouths.
I slide them over my ears and hear a woman’s voice. I catch her mid-sentence.
“—and I’m not sure, you know?”
Aiden hums, agreeing with some point I didn’t hear.
“I just . . .” The woman’s voice trails off and I hear a sigh. Exhaustion and exasperation and frustration too. All wrapped up in one tiny sound. I understand that sigh in my bones. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore. And I didn’t even realize I was feeling this way until I heard you talking to Lucie. I was nodding in my kitchen with everything she said. I think I just . . . I think I got so used to putting myself and my needs on the back burner that I didn’t notice I was doing it anymore.”
Aiden is watching me from the other side of the desk. Our eyes catch and hold. “That can happen sometimes,” he says.
“It feels silly to have a life-altering realization from someone else’s conversation, but I—I’m tired of not getting the things I deserve. I’m tired of settling. I want more.”
Something warm flares to life in my chest. I press both of my palms to the outside of my headset like I can contain this woman’s voice and tuck it close. Somewhere near my heart.
“She made me brave enough to want that,” the woman continues. “I hope she knows. Lucie. I hope she knows how much that means to me. Wherever she is. Thank you for waking me up. Thank you for giving me the hope that there’s something better out there for me. It really means the world.”
“Well, Lucie.” Aiden smiles, his eyes still right on me. I smile back. Tremulous and unsure but hopeful. “Wherever you are. Thank you.”
They move on to something else, but I’m not paying attention. I’m too focused on the thrum of my heart in my chest and the buzzy, staticky sound in the back of my head. I did something for someone, and it wasn’t fixing their muffler or changing their oil. It wasn’t cutting the crusts off a peanut butter sandwich or . . . reading the same book seventeen times in a row. I did something for someone just by—just by being myself. Sharing my fears. Being vulnerable. Exactly like Maggie said.
Aiden taps some other buttons on his board and slips his headphones from his ears. His hair is sticking up on the left side, a red mark on the corner of his jaw from the headset. He nods at me and I pull the headphones from my ears too.
“How did you know she was going to say that?” I ask.
