“Remember, thisis for you,not for her.” Savannah nods, softly. Her voice takes on an urgent intensity, encouraging me to unlock my phone. “When we make the decision to move on, it needs to be with conviction and action. No lingering regrets.”
Right, no regrets.
I take a deep breath as I sit opposite Savannah on her cream-colored sofa, staring down at Hillary’s contact.
The petty queen who lives inside me feels like,Hey, let bygones be bygones andget on. I’m not the one who’s inthe wrong, here.So I’ll have no problem “in real life” muting and blocking. Because I’ve called her more than once. I wrote a sentence in my journal. Albeit, it was last night, and I knew Savannah would ask me about my homework progress today. But also, it’s what, the eighteenth of June? That’s more than a month since we’ve spoken, and the phone works both ways. If she values this friendship, if it’s worth salvaging, why hasn’t she reached out to me?
Again, this isn’t for her, though.
“Here I go…” I tap Hillary’s name, fueled by Savannah’s authoritative yet approving smile. The line rings once before—
“Hey, you’ve reached Hillary…”
Disconnecting the call—I will die aslow, soulless death before I leave a message—I set my phone in my lap, speechless. A humorless laugh huffs out of me. “Wow…”
Savannah uncrosses and recrosses her bare legs, the skirt of her sleek, cerulean-blue mock-neck midi dress flouncing into the air. “Would you like to share what happened?”
“Uh, this woman sent me to voicemail, that’s what.” I shake my head, still lost in my thoughts, a mix of powerlessness and curiosity swirling in my gut. This is so much deeper than ghosting me since Hailey’s engagement. This is something else entirely.
But what?
Frustrated, I lean forward, reaching for my coffee, and take a small sip.
To her credit, Savannah doesn’t rush me. She lets me feel every emotion coursing through me before she stands, rounds the table, and settles on the sofa beside me. “Would you like to share your journal entry?”
The letter that I tried—and never got more than a sentence through—to write to Hillary, she means.
She smiles one of thoseI’m reading betweenthe linessmiles. “You didn’t write it.”
It’s not a question.
“No,” I admit, sheepishly.
“And that’s okay.” She rests her warm hand on mine. “This is a journey. Remember when I said, ‘Take it one task at a time’? I wasn’t only referring to dealing with your ex-mother-in-law or event planning. I really want you to work on showing yourself the grace you deserve.”
I lower my gaze to our hands, nodding. I don’t think I realized how much I needed to hear this today.
“And I don’t know when you would’ve had time anyway. I see this new hair, the face,” she adds. “Okay, lips!”
A full-chested laugh tumbles out of me, loosening the tension. “It’s my new signature.” I pucker and pose, giving her Black-girl glam. “Red Dahlia from Diva Dolls, who may or may not have sent me a DM this morning offering a massive brand deal to the divorcétante.”
Savannah cranes her neck back, her appraising expression screaming,You ate and leftzero crumbs!
“Speaking of…” She cocks her head, and I just know that whatever comes next is going to leave me giddy. “Shall we discuss the date that Leslie’s lined up for tonight?”
We might as well be preteens hollering about the school dance, the way we squeal.
“Oh myGod, Savannah!” I deflate into the cushions, then immediately jolt right back up, ready to unload. “Honey, the way I don’t know what to do with myself. What the hell is a Wednesday date night? I feel like Ishouldask Leslie more questions or make up a pre-date ritual. Maybe do some emergency Google searches, preview the menu, or test out pheromone-enhancing perfumes, or something.”
She snort-laughs.
“I knownothingabout this man.” An equally unladylike laugh sputters out of me. “This is a true blind date. I’m completely trusting Leslie to deliver, because the last time I went on adatedate…”
Savannah doesn’t miss a beat. “Uh-uh!” She wags her elegant pink nail at me. “Nope, what was that?”
I open my mouth to speak, but I choke on the words before they can leave. It’s not just the words—it’severythingelse. The weight of it. The ache.
God, the ache.
