Page 175 of Spicy Ever After
I give in and power the thing on.
Listening to his voicemails isn’t an option. If I hear his voice now, I’ll crack.
I haven’t let myself read his messages since Tuesday afternoon, when my parents and I landed in San Diego. I scroll back up to his casual, unruffled response to my last message. When I told him I couldn’t meet him on Monday, I said I was sorry.
He may not realize it, but I was apologizing in advance. Because ghosting him while I’m here was premeditated.
Does that make it worse?
Like a murder?
And does it make it even worse that I take comfort reading his messages? Because it’s proof he hasn’t forgotten about me?
Am I an evil girlfriend?
Monday morning
Beck: It’s okay. Do what you need to do. Let me know when you’re free.
Beck: And I love you.
Rereading these words is like a harpoon to the heart. The fact that he sent these as two texts seems immeasurably sweet to me. As though he fired off the first one and realized he wasn’t finished. That the message wasn’t complete until he told me how he felt.
Monday night
Beck: You okay?
Beck: I just tried calling. With the rain in the forecast tomorrow afternoon, I have an early start, but call me back even if it’s late.
Tuesday afternoon
Beck: Something’s wrong. Is it my fault? I’m starting to worry that things might’ve moved too fast for you this weekend. Please talk to me.
This was the last message I’d let myself read when I’d powered off my phone Tuesday because the urge to call him had been too much. But there’s a fuckton of other messages since then.
My heartbeat quickens when I see the double digits.
Tuesday night
Beck: You’re leaving me on read.
I suck in my breath when I read this one.
Shit. I forgot all about read receipts.
How could I be so dumb?
Beck: You know that’s not cool, right?
Beck: Gotta say, Hattie, I don’t like it. What the hell is going on?
Beck: Are you alright? Just call me back so we can work this out.
Wednesday night
Beck: Hattie, honey, I’m parked on the street outside your house. I can see your Jeep. I know this is sketch, but please, please come out and talk to me.
(Twenty-two minutes later)
