I call out his name again and again, like the apartment isn’t less than nine-hundred square feet. I run between the three rooms, check behind every closed door and then check again. Nothing.
Rushing to the bedside table, I plug my phone into Connor’s charger. Too anxious to stand there and wait for my phone to wake up, I jog to the bathroom in search of my toothbrush.
It’s gone. All my toiletries that were on the counter, cleared away. Worry slices me anew as I whizz back through the apartment and find what I missed when I rushed inside. My suitcase, packed and at the ready by the front door.
Like hell will I let him give up that easy.
I toss my suitcase back on the bed and yank it open. Warmth washes over me at the care Connor used in packing it. Everything properly folded and in its place like a cathartically satisfying game of Tetris.
Still, it all has to go. I dig out everything I need: stuff for the bathroom, a fresh set of clothes, my glasses.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand and I leap across the bed to grab it.
Twenty-five notifications.
I bypass the texts, missed calls and voicemails from my parents—that conversation will come later.
Five missed calls from Connor. No voicemails. Like me, he knows we can’t have this conversation over the phone.
But the text messages. A dozen of them, the first one just minutes after I left him on the sidewalk yesterday.
Connor
I’m so sorry.
Did you catch up with Drew? Is everything okay? What can I do?
Please. Tell me what to do!
God! I messed up everything, didn’t I?
Gretchen…
Seriously, Drew’s not answering me and neither are you. I’m starting to worry.
Reagan texted and said you don’t have your phone. Sorry for the first six texts where I sound crazy. Please call me as soon as you get your phone back.
Still no phone?
I don’t know what to do. I feel useless here by myself, Fish. Please text me back!
Are we okay?
And the last two that came through less than forty-five minutes ago.
Connor
I couldn’t sleep without you.
The part where I said I was in love with you? I meant it. You deserved better than for it to come out like that. I’m sorry.
Connor
Barely a bruise remains on my jaw. One small mercy from the universe, I suppose.
I couldn’t face Drew when he came for Gretchen’s suitcase, much less watch her pack her things if she showed up with him.
She hasn’t replied to any of my messages. Maybe she needs space, time to think. Maybe she wants to back off until things settle down. Maybe her brother—and her parents—convinced her to end this. Maybe it really is over.
