by Jeff Shelby
“I think I probably should've waited for you to text me back,” I finally said. “I'm sorry.”
“Sarah, did you get cash out of my wallet?” a voice said from behind her, somewhere in the apartment. “If that's the pizza, I've got cash.”
A male voice.
“Shit,” Sarah whispered. “Noah, I—”
“No worries,” I said, backing up. “I got it. Totally my fault.”
I turned and walked away.
“Noah. Wait.”
I didn't. I kept walking, got to the stairs, the wine and sandwiches now uncomfortably heavy in my hands. My ears were buzzing as I descended to the parking lot, trying to get there as quickly as possible.
A door closed up above. “Noah! Wait!”
I kept walking to the car.
“Goddammit, would you just hang on for a second?” Sarah said, jogging down the stairs behind me. “Can I explain?”
“You don't need to,” I said over my shoulder. I fumbled for my keys. “It's fine.”
She slid in between me and the car. “Just wait. Please.”
I took a step back, away from her.
She took a deep breath and ran a hand through her hair. She was wearing a blue tank top and cotton shorts. Her feet were bare.
I waited.
“I wasn't checking my phone,” she said. “I apologize.”
“Not necessary.”
She took another breath. “It's...it's complicated.”
“You don't have to explain.”
“I want to, alright?” she said, squinting at me. “Just let me.”
I didn't say anything.
“Craig is...we dated off and on for awhile,” she said slowly. “Kinda serious, kinda not. He called me this afternoon and asked if I was around. I don't know why, but I said yes.”
I shrugged. “It's fine, Sarah. Really. You don't owe me anything.”
She stared at me for a long moment. “I can't read you. At all. We meet and we click, then you disappear. Then I come to find you and we click again and you tell me everything and we spend the night together and…I don't know.” She shook her head. “You've been totally honest with me, but I can tell there's still something holding you back. You told me no promises, and I fully appreciate and respect that. I don't want to close you in or make you feel like you owe me anything.”
“I don't,” I said.
She frowned. “This is all coming out wrong. I just...I had no idea where I stood with you and I didn't want to assume anything.” She gestured back toward the apartment. “I can tell him to go.”
“No.”
She took a deep breath and her shoulders sagged.
“It's fine,” I told her. “You didn't do anything wrong. You're totally right. It's on me. No promises, and you don't owe me anything.”
She folded her arms across her chest.
“You should get back upstairs,” I said.
“I feel terrible,” she said.
“You shouldn't. Really.”
She took another deep breath, exhaled. “Okay. But I want to talk to you. I don't want this to be a thing, alright? Can I call you tomorrow?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
She studied me. “I will call you tomorrow.” She nodded at the wine. “Save that. Maybe we can drink it tomorrow. If you'll speak to me.”
“I gotta go,” I told her.
She started to say something, then shook her head, put her hand on my arm for a moment, then headed back toward her apartment.
I got in the car, shoved the key in the ignition, and backed out of the parking spot.
I glanced in my rearview mirror and caught her looking down toward me as I drove away.
I turned right out of the apartment complex, then pulled into the gas station at the corner.
I flexed my fingers on the wheel.
Sarah didn't owe me anything. I was the one who'd put up the defenses and the walls. I made sure she understood I couldn't promise anything, and she had.
And it just figured that when I was finally ready to gamble, my own issues came back to sting me.
I got out of the car, dropped the wine and sandwiches in a round trashcan near the front door of the mini-mart, then climbed back into the front seat.
I let the engine idle for a few minutes, pissed at myself and pissed at the world.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and scrolled through the contacts until I found Sarah's name.
It wasn't her fault. She was entitled to her own life and to make her own decisions, especially when I'd been so distant. I had nothing to be angry about.
But it felt like another door closing, and it hurt on a day when I felt like I was finally getting my shit together again.
I looked down at her name and number on the screen.
I knew she'd call me tomorrow. I had no doubt. She genuinely looked upset that I'd shown up, upset that I'd been caught unaware. I figured she might've even cut her date short and tried to call me sooner than she'd promised.
But it was pretty clear that I still wasn't ready for everything in my life to move in the right direction.
I scrolled down beneath her info and tapped the delete button. The phone asked me if I really wanted to delete this contact.
I tapped it again and her info disappeared.
I tossed the phone on the seat next to me and pulled out of the gas station.
I headed west toward the beaches. The sun was a little lower in the sky now, ready to do its sunset show.
Maybe I'd still be able to catch up with Carter on that set that was supposed to roll in. I knew he'd make me laugh, probably offer me words about Sarah that would make me rethink deleting her from my phone. He'd tell me that I still knew where to find her, to clear my head, and go talk to her.
But the fog and dark were fighting to get into my head, and I wasn't sure I wanted to hear any of that.
So, instead, I focused on the sinking sun and the water.
Because those were two things I knew would always be there.
THE END
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