Page 120 of Better Than Gelato
My shift goes by fast, and I want to sprint out the door, but I make myself do a thorough job cleaning up. Manager Mike opens tomorrow, and I want him to see how pristine I left everything.
It’s nearly 9:30 by the time I call Jake.
“Hi,” I whisper when he picks up. “Are you awake?”
“Yeah. How was your shift?”
“Lost another finger to frostbite, but I still have a few left. How was your day? Didn’t you have rounds with that resident you like?”
“Yeah, it was really great. I got to help intubate someone, which I’ve never done before.”
“That sounds cool.”
“It was.”
And then silence. That’s how it’s been lately. I get so excited when it’s time to talk to Jake and then we run out of things to say pretty quickly.
“Hey, maybe this is too early to start planning,” I say. “But you talked about coming to Lakeport for Thanksgiving. Do you think that’s still a possibility?”
“Thanksgiving? Oh yeah, no. That’s not going to work.” He sounds like he doesn’t even remember suggesting it.
“Okay, no worries. I’ve got three weeks off at Christmas, and I was thinking maybe I could do two at home and then I could catch a flight to Phoenix and spend a week with you. Phoenix isn’t that far from San Diego. I bet I could get Maggie to come pick me up and bring me back to school. Plus you could meet Maggie.”
I realize slowly that Jake hasn’t said anything the whole time I’ve been talking. Usually he chimes in encouragingly when I have great ideas for us.
“Jake?”
“Yeah, I’m still here.”
“So…what do you think about Christmas?”
“I don’t know...”
He doesn’t know?
I hear the smallest sigh. “Look, um, I’ve got a pretty crazy semester. Why don’t we just see how things play out?”
I don’t know what this is, but this is not my Jake. He does not sound interested in seeing me over Christmas. Or ever.
I don’t know how to respond, but it doesn’t matter because before I can say anything Jake says, “Can I give you a call later? I’ve got to catch some shut eye before lecture tomorrow.”
“Sure, of course.”
And then before I can stop myself, I blurt it out, the thing that has been festering in my brain for too long:
“You never say I love you anymore.”
It’s not a question. But it’s a statement that begs an answer. It’s met with silence. The seconds stretch and I sit there, vulnerable and trembling, like a hermit crab out of its shell.
“Juls,” Jake says. And his voice is so soft and tender, it sounds just like my Jake. Tears spring into my eyes because my body knows what’s about to happen before my brain does.
“We’ve always been really intentional saying that to each other,” he starts. “I only say that when I really feel that way.”
The obvious hangs in the air between us. He doesn’t feel that way.
My legs feel wobbly, and I sink onto the grass.
“So what...what does that mean?”
