Sarah
It’s late by the time I get home, but not so late that I can’t make a call I should have made weeks ago. The second the door closes behind me, I pull up Tessa’s contact info and hit the call button. The phone rings. Once. Twice. A third time. Just as I’m resigning myself to leave a voicemail and deciding how much to say now versus later, Tessa answers.
“Well, hey there,” she says, sounding neither pleased nor displeased to hear from me.
“Hey.” I drop onto the bed, the cheap comforter scratching against the back of my thighs, and kick off my shoes. “I’ve been meaning to call for a long time,” I say as I cross my legs and massage a foot. Apologies don’t come easy to me, but that’s a weakness it’s time I address. Tessa is a good woman, a good friend. She deserves the same in turn.
“Yeah?” Tessa asks in that same tone, one you’d reserve for a call from a stranger. “Colton says you’re in Denver.”
“I am.” It’s tempting to use small talk to cover up everything that’s broken between us, to just drop into conversation as if nothing’s wrong. Pretend things are okay without actually talking about what happened so I can hang up feeling better about not coming to her wedding. Old Sarah would do just that. But I’m working on a new Sarah. “I called to apologize…”
“Sarah…” Tessa trails off and lets out a breath.
“I was wrong to disappear after New Years. I was wrong not to come to your wedding. I know you know that things between my family and me are all kinds of fucked up, but I should have been stronger for you. I ran away and I’m sorry. I really am.”
There’s a long pause and then, “I don’t know what you want me to say.” She sounds hurt, like she’s stuck between wanting to tell me to fuck off and not knowing if I’m worth the effort.
“I don’t want you to say anything. I just need you to know I’m sorry. I’m kind of stuck here in Denver, but when I get home, I’ll figure out a way to make it up to you.”
My own statement is a punch to the gut.
When I get home.
How did I not realize that my time in Denver—and therefore my time with Frank—has an expiration date?
“I forgive you, Sarah. I mean, in a way I guess I already forgave you. Everyone knows not to count on you to do what you say you’re going to do. What kind of friend would I be if I started holding that against you now?”
Her words sting, but I shake them off. She’s right, after all. “Do me a favor, would ya? Start holding them against me. You deserve a friend who will be there for you even when it’s hard.”
“You’re right. I do. And you hurt my feelings and on one hand I don’t know if I even want to talk to you right now.”
“And on the other hand?”
“Well, the other hand has missed you so much it’s willing to work on forgiving and forgetting.”
I flop back on the bed and cover my eyes with my arm, trying to push away the realization that I managed to ignore a giant roadblock between Frank and me—namely the twelve hundred or so miles separating his home from mine.
Tessa fills me in on life with Colton while I nod and smile my way through the conversation. I’d forgotten how much I appreciate her genuine positivity and easygoing nature. “So, obviously I’m happy as can be,” she says. “What about you? Colton says you’re working?”
I laugh, despite the anxiety growing inside me, and sit up to grab my purse off the floor. “Yeah, can you believe that?” I explain the accident. The damage to the car. My shitty hotel room, and the drain on my savings. “And then, to make things all the more exciting, when I get to the body shop to pick up my car, I discover why my insurance is so cheap.” I explain the invoice and the outstanding thirty-five-hundred dollars as I pull my pill bottle out of my purse.
“No way! What did you do?” Tessa’s voice still sounds strained, the response a tad forced and unnatural, but she’s softening toward me.
She and I are going to be okay, mostly because she’s the kind of person I wish I could be.
I spin the bottle in my hand. “Thankfully, Frank was there and he offered to put the balance on his credit card so I didn’t have to leave the car at the shop while I came up with the money.” Pinching the phone to my shoulder, I unscrew the cap, the pills clattering against the plastic.
“Frank? Who’s Frank?”
Who’s Frank?
That’s a spectacular question if I’ve ever heard one.
I shake a few pills into my hand as I contemplate the answer.
Is he just some guy? Or is he the guy?
Is he someone I spent some time with once while I was stuck in Denver? Or is he someone that means enough to make me consider staying in Denver?
Is he already part of my past? Just someone to keep me company here in the present?
Or is he my future?
“Sarah? Are you still there?”
I slide the pills back into the bottle. Replace the cap. Bury the thing in my purse and then drop back onto my pillows. “Yeah. I’m here. Who’s Frank? Oh, Tessa…he’s the most amazing guy…”
I go on and on about our time together, how he makes me feel, what he’s done for me since I’ve been here. Tessa adds the appropriate squeals of excitement to the conversation as I gush, then, as the clock ticks past eleven, tells me she needs to get ready for bed so she’s not a zombie at work in the morning.
“I’m so glad you called,” she says, and judging from the smile in her voice, she means it.
“Yeah,” I reply. “I am, too.”
We say our goodbyes and when I hang up, I find a text from Frank that simply reads ‘thinking of you.’ Those three words hit me hard and I type out a quick response.
Me: Wish you were here.
While I’m brushing my teeth, his reply comes in.
Frank: Me too.
The text bubbles bounce.
Frank: Wait.
Frank: Scratch that.
Frank: Your place is terrifying. Wish you were here, instead.
I laugh. The man has a point. While I’m thinking of an appropriately witty response, another text comes.
Frank: Come home with me tomorrow. I can’t stand the thought of spending another night without you.
My heart jumps into my throat, my emotions run wild, strong and potent without the medication in my system. I dance in place, holding my phone over my head while I swing my hair in circles.
Who is Frank?
He’s the guy worth taking a risk for.
The guy worth changing for.
The guy who’s going to teach me to fly.
I respond with a simple ‘yes, please,’ then fall into bed and wait for sleep, too excited to do much more than stare at the ceiling and daydream about tomorrow.