Page 89 of First-Time Caller
It’s the flimsiest lie I’ve ever told. I’ve been trying to course correct ever since.
“Fuck,” I breathe up at the sky, turning toward the studio when all I want to do is climb into my Bronco and disappear.
By the time I make it into the booth, Eileen is on the other side of the window holding up two fingers in warning. I nod at her and she turns them toward her eyes, then back at me, the universal gesture forGet your shit together, asshole, through a soundproof window.
I give her a thumbs-up.
I would if I could.
Lucie spins in her chair on the other side of the booth. Her hair is in a loose braid over her shoulder tonight and it feels like a personal attack. She’s sipping the good coffee that I keep moving but she keeps finding and I can’t get a deep enough breath.
“So he does work here,” she says quietly, keeping her eyes on the desk. “I was starting to wonder.”
“I do,” I say, holding myself by the door. I watch as she arranges some pens. Then straightens her headphones. She hasn’t put them on yet. She usually waits for me.
What am I going to do with all this information when she’s gone? All these tiny data points of Lucie. How she sips her coffee. How she arranges her body in her chair. How she rubs at her ear when she’s uncomfortable. Where will it all go when she goes back to her life and I’m still here?
Because she is going to leave. Whether with Oliver or some other person perfectly suited to be the man of her dreams.
She sighs and turns halfway in her chair, looking at me over her shoulder. The last time I saw her she was sprawled across a couch in her living room, in cozy flannel pants and an oversized sweatshirt. I felt like I was on the very edge of something when I left her house that day, and I’ve spent every hour since trying to walk myself back.
“Your phone has been vibrating,” she tells me.
I blink. “What?”
“Your phone. While you were outside. It’s been buzzing.”
Right on cue, the phone I left next to my microphone lights up with a notification. It buzzes once, then twice more.
“Are you going to answer it?” she asks.
“Oh.” I drag my hand through my hair. “No.”
“No?”
“I don’t need to check it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I know who it is.” And I don’t want to look at seventeen different pictures of leaves right now. I dig the heel of my hand into my chest and rub, trying to get rid of the pressure sitting heavy in the middle of it. It feels like I swallowed a tire swing.
“Oh,” she says. She searches my face carefully and then averts her eyes back to the corner of the desk. She frowns at her chocolate mints. “I see,” she adds, her voice quiet.
“What do you see?”
She bites her lip and then releases it, tipping her head back to the ceiling. Her braid slips over her shoulder and swings down her back. “You don’t owe me an explanation,” she says slowly.
“For what?”
“For who you’re texting,” she says. She nods at my phone. “Someone is clearly trying to get a hold of you.”
“Yeah,” I agree. “She can be pretty persistent when she wants to be.”
Something in her face dims. “Clearly.”
I stare at her. My phone buzzes twice more against the cup-holder, rattling the mismatched pens inside.
This is why I stayed in the parking lot for so long. I feel like I’m losing my goddamn mind in this tiny room. I can’t think clearly when Lucie is around. “What’s going on?” I ask slowly.
