Page 24 of The Long Way Home
“Huh?” I respond, unsure what he is talking about.
“Dinner, Rach. You asked me about dinner like four minutes ago.”
I flip my phone face down on the counter. “Oh—yeah. I’m fine with whatever you feel like.”
He walks to the fridge and cracks open a can of sparkling water. I watch him for a moment longer, then turn away. My eyes fall back to the screen.
Wanna meet up for coffee sometime this week?
I shouldn’t be considering it. I could make a list—long and damning—of every reason I’m still mad at him. I’d start with the way he left things unresolved, add on the silence that followed, and definitely include how easily he can reach out now like none of it mattered.
I should delete the message and block the number. I should pretend this never landed in my lap. That would be the reasonable thing to do.
But reason has never been my strong suit where Rhett is concerned.
I tap the edge of the counter once with my thumb, then again. I don’t miss him. That’s not what this is. I just need information. He’s back in town, and I don’t like not knowing why. How can I avoid him if I don’t know why he is here? If I can get the answer over one controlled, neutral cup of coffee, then I can file him away properly.
No need for spiraling or nostalgia. And definitely no chance to let him derail my life.
My thumb hovers over the keyboard. I inhale through my nose, already irritated with myself.
I can handle a coffee. Before I give myself time to overthink it, I type:
Me:
What day are you thinking?
I hit send and immediately lock the screen. My heart beats a little faster than I like, and I busy myself by wiping down the counter, desperately needing something to do with my hands.
Behind me, Ben shifts on the couch, scrolling through his phone. “Do you want Thai or pizza? Oh, or a salad?” he asks.
“Anything but salad,” I say, not turning around.
“I wish you’d pick one, Rach.” He glances up, mouth tilting into a half-smile. “You always say you don’t care and then steal half of mine. I’m not sharing tonight.”
His words drift in and out without really landing, but he’s smiling, so I smile back.
“I’m going to take a quick shower,” I say, heading back over to the counter to grab my phone and scrub top. “Wash off the day and all.” It vibrates just as I approach.
Unknown Number:
I'm off Wednesday. Morning or afternoon, your call.
I glance at the calendar in my head. I have a lighter day on Wednesday, just a couple of patients for post-op PT and some paperwork I could push if I needed to. I could leave early. I shouldn’t, but I could.
Me:
I have that afternoon off. I can squeeze you in at two. Where?
Unknown Number:
Cafe-a-latte downtown. See you Wednesday.
The hallway swallows me as soon as I turn away. In the bedroom, I step out of the pants and toss them and my scrub top into the hamper. I make my way to the bathroom. I flick thelights on and turn the shower handle. The shower head wobbles a little.
“Please don’t break yet. Not before I convince Ben to fix you,” I mutter to it.
Just then warm water sputters out, and steam starts to curl around the edges of the glass door. The hot water hits my skin, running down my neck and shoulders, and I close my eyes. The heat is a small relief, but it can’t wash away the heaviness in my chest.
