“Good! I’m glad to hear it,” she went on. “I know it’sss not totally approperr-eate for me to be calling you at, like, two thirrrttyy in the a.m., but you know, I wassss jussst worried about you … both.”
“Thanks for checking on us. I’m really glad to hear from you, Sammie.”
He, himself, was drunk enough to not care about avoiding using the nickname, and she seemed to be unaffected by it either, as she launched into an unrelated tangent.
“Nnnick. I was thinking. And I don’t know how much ssennsse this makes because it makes no ssennsse to me, but I’m just gonna say it, ‘kay?”
“Okay.”
“I was thinking…I kind of like … missss you. That’s kind of weird,right? Like, I see you every day. And I still, like, misss you. That makes no ssennsse,right?”
He swallowed hard and shook his head as he spoke softly. “No, it makes total sense.”
“Like I see you every day,” she went on, not acknowledging his reply. “But I still miss you. I mean, it’s not just missing you. It’s like … it’s like.”
She stopped abruptly, but he remained quiet. Partially because he wanted her to sort through her words, but also because there was a tiny lump growing steadily in his throat.
“It’s like,” she picked back up with a crack in her voice. “I miss bringing you food, and like … playing cards.”
A small sob choked out of her throat and he leaned his head back against the headrest, bringing a hand to cover and rub his eyes.
“Isn’t that weird?” Her voice pinched as her breath hitched in between steadily increasing sobs. “I don’t know why playing cards is making me so sad right now, but it just kind of … isss.”
He shook his head and swallowed. “It’s not weird, Sammie. I know what you mean. I miss you too.”
With that, she seemed to break down into full, unbridled weeping, which caused him to drop his face into his hand, and he let his alcohol and heartache induced tears to come silently as well.
“I’m ssorry,” she eventually sputtered. “I didn’t mean to call you just to cry. I think I drank too much. I just wanted to make ssure you were ssafe.”
He wiped his face on his sleeve and drew in a quiet breath. “Don’t be sorry, I’m glad you called.” He cleared his throat. “Sammie, you promise you’re at your mom’s right now?”
“Yeah.”
“Please stay there. Don’t try to drive home or go anywhere.”
She exhaled a teary laugh. “I’d never drive drunk, sssilly.”
“I know. I’m just saying. If anything happened to you, I’d lose my mind because—”
He paused, wondering if he should probably keep his mouth shut about this. But his mouth seemed to lack a filter so he went ahead and said it.
“Because what I told you a few weeks ago … it’s still how I feel. It’s always going to be how I feel, and I want to give you time because I know you’re mad and need your space. But I need you to know that I’m not going anywhere. So please remember that.”
She sniffled. “Really?”
“Yes,” he said. “And I hope there’s a time soon when we can maybe talk about it again when we’re both not totally, like plastered.”
She laughed. “I hope ssoo too.”
“Try to get some rest tonight,” he told her. “Drink a glass of water and take some Advil. It’ll help you not feel so bad in the morning.”
She laughed again. “I’m a featherweight.”
He chuckled. “I know.”
“I know you know.”
She seemed to pause so he hesitated, not wanting to hang up yet. Eventually, she took a deep breath and he heard a sound like she’d flopped onto a bed.
