After three hours, I left.
That was almost a month ago.
A month.
A month without hearing Josh’s voice. Or seeing him. Our conversations were quick texts that had no meaning behind them. It was just me knowing he was alive. I didn’t fear him doing something intentional to himself, but I feared him losing his edge over the letter and whoever Delilah was.
I spent so much time alone in my room with notebooks and my laptop, going through old memories of my life like a dusty box of pictures. Writing down ideas and typing up what became nothing more than quick stories, which had no real life. And each time I wasted hours on it all, it was a gentle reminder that my life at the restaurant was far from over. I’d then toss and turn in the middle of the night wondering if I should bother writing anymore. Just put it all away and leave it be. Or figure out a new career in life. Maybe do what Grace did. Coach people through life.
Because I was so good at coaching myself.
Of course, I couldn’t just get home.
Miss Laura was outside her apartment, cleaning her door.
She would actually wipe her front door down at least once a week.
“Amelia!” she cried out when she saw me.
She wiped her forehead.
“Hard work?” I asked.
“You can’t imagine it. Need to keep my place spotless. Hey, what are you doing back so soon? Your shifts are never this short.”
“Caught a lucky break,” I said.
“Bad business?” Miss Laura shook her dirty rag at me. “I always tell people, you never know about the restaurant business. It’s so strange. I think we all need to just cook at home. Go back to the way it used to be.”
“Well, if that happens, I’ll be out of a job,” I said with a weak smile.
“You’re a writer, Amelia. Not a waitress.”
“I don’t know about that,” I said.
“Oh, come on now,” she said. “Say, let me tell you a story…”
I groaned in my mind.
Then in my stomach.
It wasn’t a sick groan.
It was probably a hungry groan.
After throwing up at work, I was now hungry.
How perfect.
“I need to get inside,” I said.
“Oh, right. Another meeting?”
“Yeah, sure,” I said. “Your door looks nice.”
“Thank you for saying that,” Miss Laura said. “The trick is to mix-”
“Write it down for me,” I said as I made a move for my door.
The whole another meeting thing slipped my mind until I saw Bel sitting at the dining room table.
She had a balled-up tissue in her hand and dabbed her left eye.
“Oh…” I managed to say.
Grace spun around. “What are you doing home?”
“Early night,” I said. “Sorry. I’ll disappear.”
Bel cleared her throat. “Amelia. It’s so good to see you again.”
“I’m so sorry for interrupting here.”
“Hardly,” Bel said. “I own my emotions. I had a rough day.”
“Join the club,” I said.
I immediately regretted saying that.
“What’s wrong?” Grace asked.
“Nothing,” I said. “Let me get out of the way here.”
I hurried to walk by, knowing one of them was going to grab me.
Of course, it was Bel.
“Have you written any more about that letter?” she asked.
I felt Grace’s eyes burning at me too.
“No,” I said. “I found out who wrote it and the ending wasn’t what I thought.”
“You’re a writer though, Amelia. You could make up your own.”
“Not with that,” I said.
“I have other work available,” Bel offered.
“I think it’s worth considering,” Grace said.
“Then I will do that,” I said. “I will consider it.”
“You seem different,” Bel said. “Something about you… I don’t know.”
“I’m just tired and annoyed,” I said. “I don’t want to be bothered.”
Bel let me go. “Hint taken.”
“Why don’t you sit with us?” Grace asked.
“No, thanks,” I said. “I’m fine.”
I walked to my bedroom and sat on the edge of my bed. I bit my lip. I swallowed hard. I felt out of place. Yet, it was the comfort of my room. In my apartment. Cat posters and all.
I had my phone in my hands.
Hey. Listen - I’m sorry about the letter. This is crazy that we don’t talk anymore. I loved you then, Josh. And I love you again now. It’s different though. I’m sorry I asked about her. I just never read anything like that. And what she must have meant to you. You still love her. And that’s okay. I could live with that. But I can’t live without you.
My thumb flirted over the screen. One flick of my thumb and the message would be sent.
I deleted the message and tossed my phone to the bed.
I crashed down and touched my stomach.
“Stupid fish,” I whispered.
I reached for my phone again.
I miss you, Josh. Please tell me you’re okay.
That one I sent without hesitation, even though it made my heart race.
I waited for what felt like hours for Josh to respond.
My eyes slowly shut and I dreamed I was running up a hill. On a sidewalk.
I knew exactly where I was.
The old street and sidewalk where I’d run when I needed to find Josh.
In my dream, I did find Josh.
Except he was walking away from me.
His arm around someone else.
A girl his height. With long, blonde hair. I assumed her hair smelled like strawberry or lavender. Something sweet yet calming. And I never had any of that stuff. We could never afford it. My clothes and hair smelled like cheap soap, dust, smoke, and grease.
Josh never looked back.
The girl slid her hand down and pinched his butt.
The girl was Delilah.
I knew it.
I just knew it.
I gasped in my dream - and in real life - as I woke up.
When I looked at the clock it was almost three in the morning.
I had fallen asleep for almost six hours.
I reached for my phone and saw Josh had replied to my text.
Just after midnight.
Miss you too. Forget about me. Once and for all.
My stomach flipped over and over.
I sat up and coughed.
I looked around the room.
I’d never
