To breathe.
A few miles from home, my phone rang through my car’s Bluetooth.
My heart leaped, thinking it was Hassani.
I quickly glanced at the dashboard screen, but it wasn’t him.
Still, it was a welcomed name. A voice I needed in that moment.
I answered with a smile. “Hey, Aunt Laurie.”
A gentle laugh came through the line, underscored by the sound of seagulls crying in the background.
“Always answering on the first ring,” she teased.
“You’re the only person I know who’s always somewhere with seagulls in the background. I always need to hear that.”
She chuckled. “Mm-hmm.” A pause. “So, how are things?”
I exhaled. “Okay… I guess. Just leaving Mom’s.” I turned onto the street leading to my house. “I met her boyfriend tonight.”
She gasped. “You did?!”
“Yeah.” I swallowed hard. “He’s great. You’d like him.”
“Oh, Favorite Girl,” she cooed. “I already do, from our phone calls. What I really wanna know is… do you like him?”
I hesitated. “I do.”
“So why do you sound so…?” She exhaled. “I don’t know. Unlike yourself.”
I wanted to vent.
To tell her how things felt different now.
How Hassani was constantly away from home. How he kept canceling on me. How I wasn’t sure if I was overreacting or if something was actually wrong.
But it all just sounded so stupid to say out loud.
Instead, I said, “I just wish you were here tonight.”
My voice wobbled a little, surprising even me.
“I wish you were here any night. It’s like trying to find Carmen Sandiego with you.”
She hollered a laugh, and I couldn’t help but laugh too.
When the humor settled, I sighed. “I miss you, Aunt Laurie. A lot. The last time I saw you was… God… I think summer of 2020.”
“Has it really been three years already?” she mused, mostly to herself. “It couldn’t have been that long ago.”
I frowned. “It was.”
“Well, shit.” She clicked her tongue. “Guess I gotta change that now, don’t I?”
I pulled into our driveway, cutting the engine. My eyes lifted to our house, its beautiful blend of wood, stone, and glass glowing under the soft porch lights.
I was staring directly at Hassani’s imagination. His creation.