Page 103 of No Place Like You

I hear, practically feel, the other shoe drop.

“But I don’t think I can make it out next week.”

And there it is.Thunk.“Oh.”

He sighs and buries his face into his hands. “I’m so sorry,” he says hoarsely.

“I mean, it’s fine. Is everything?—”

“Look, I’ve got to go,” he interrupts, sounding a little distracted. I was about to ask him why he had to cancel his trip, a little worried it may be because of Janet, but he’s been so open about any changes in her health, I feel like he would’ve told me. Or at the very least, he wouldn’t shut me down like this.

“I’ll call you soon. Okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Okay.”

47

Lucy

He didn’t call.He didn’t text or email or send a barbershop quartet or a homing pigeon. Something, anything to let me know I still exist in his world instead of feeling like he swiped away all remnants of me from his memory. The day he was supposed to visit passes by with no answers like why he had to cancel his trip, and I’m left wondering so many things and equally regretting them.

I called him once and texted him twice, asking him if everything was okay. He let my call go to voicemail and finally answered my second text message with a single worded “yes.” No explanation. No follow-up apology, not that I needed it if the reasons were valid, but it still feels so…unsettling.

Maybe it was stupid of me to fall headfirst into us, to free-fall while throwing every caution sign into the wind. Maybe it was foolish of me to believe that this could work and we could pretend distance would never be an issue as long as we figured it out, one day at a time.

I feel hollow, empty, while feeling like Dexter is the only person in the world who can make things right. But he’s choosing not to be that person to me, not anymore.

My front door clicks open, and I hear Annabelle walk through the door. Jeremy jumps from the spot next to me on the couch and meows his way to Annabelle while I keep my eyes glued on the television screen.

“Uh…Did you brush your hair today?” Annabelle asks, taking in the scene around her. I’m slouched on the couch, my hair tangled up in knots, my oversized sleep shirt stained with Cheeto dust, and a family-sized bag of M&M’s sitting on my lap.Supernaturalis playing on the TV screen, and I’m pretty sure there’s a loose Cheeto desperately seeking air somewhere in my shirt.

“Of course I did,” I answer glumly, popping another M&M in my mouth. “Can’t promise I’ll do it again this week.”

Annabelle’s brows shoot up, and she perches at the edge of the couch. “Did you not go to work today?”

“It’s my day off.”

She stays silent a little longer, still taking in everything before she lays a hand on my arm. “Luce, what’s going on?”

I ignore her question, hoping that if I do, she won’t notice the way my eyes heavily mist over and my heart twists. Instead, I tug at my upper lip with the bottom row of my teeth to hide the slight tremble of my chin, trying to stop the tears before they start to flow like a river.

“I don’t know,” I finally say when Annabelle keeps her sympathetic eyes on me. “Dexter hasn’t called me back since he told me he had to cancel his trip. And…maybe he’s just over us, and he doesn’t want to be with me anymore. Or he met someone else.”

That last sentence nearly kills me. The thought that he might be with someone else, sharing the things we shared like all the coupley things we did, makes my heart ache so damn much. I pick at my shirtcollar, covering my face with it and sobbing into the stained fabric. I see the loose Cheeto fall to the ground, and I don’t know whether to be disgusted with myself or cry harder.

“Lucy,” she coos, pulling me into a deep embrace, and I, of course, cry harder. “Fuck him. Fuck all men!” she exclaims with gusto.

I laugh a weak laugh into her arm and wipe the runaway trail of snot before I look at her. The sad look on my face confirms this isn’t a simple “fuck all men” type of situation.

“Do you want to crack open the tub of mint and chip?”

I want to sob into the couch cushions. Annabelle doesn’t know mint and chip ice cream would only remind me more of Dexter. About our late-night trips to The Lunch Car that included a basket of onion rings and stolen moments inside a private booth seat. He’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

“Sure,” I say weakly, unable to resist another reminder of Dexter.

Annabelle walks to the kitchen to retrieve the dessert I’ll probably cry into just as my phone buzzes on the coffee table. I reach for it, wanting to ignore it altogether while secretly hoping it’s Dexter. I guess I’m still clinging on to the hope that he hasn’t completely forgotten about me. Maybe he’s doing a courtesy call instead of ghosting me. But when I look at my phone screen, it isn’t Dexter. It’s Carmen.

“Hello,” I call glumly over the sound of Annabelle opening and closing kitchen cabinets and ceramic bowls clinking in the background.

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