Page 79 of Goodbye Again
Am I going to do it anyway? Absolutely.
The walk from the station to his spot feels tumultuous in the muggy air and the length is highlighted by every crinkle of the paper bag as it swipes my thigh with each step.
I’m sweaty with a pit in my stomach when I finally reach his door and knock. My heartrate skyrockets the longer I wait. Ten seconds. Then twenty. It’s almost been a minute before I turn to leave, cursing under my breath for being so stupid. He could be at the Cubs game. He could be grocery shopping. He could be at church. I don’t know him anymore. It’s been eight months since I’ve seen him.
Just as I start to drag my feet down the steps to leave the apartment building with a pledge never do this again, I hear, “Can I help you?”
I turn to the sound of a female voice. She’s wrapped in a white robe, her beautiful red hair swooped into a clip, and she looks perfectly unkempt.
“Oh, sorry. I think I went to the wrong apartment,” I mutter, tripping over my feet.
“Who are you looking for? All the people in these units are pretty close-knit.”
“Oh, he—” I hesitate with my answer then shoot for honesty. “He used to live there. He must have moved.”
She glances at the unit number on the door then back to me. “JP has lived here for years.”
The warm dampness on my back turns into a cold, disappointed sweat. I swallow so hard my tongue hurts and press my lips together with a humiliated nod. “Got it. Don’t worry about it.”
“I can tell him you stopped by.” She’s trying to be polite and it’s making my humiliation worse, especially since the way she’s looking at me is telling me she wants to know exactly who I am.
“No, please don’t. I was just in the neighborhood”—lie—“and thought I’d say hi. But I’ll just go. No worries.”
I ramble the words as I escape down the apartment building stairs and tear the brown paper bag completely open as I reach the ground floor. My cashew snack clusters and red curry sauce roll onto the sidewalk, and I fall to my knees, scrambling to save the goods, praying the redhead doesn’t follow me outside. The last jar of red curry sauce rolls out into the street before I can snag it, and a cab rolls over it, shooting the red sauce all over my face. I freeze, before standing up and walking home covered in curry and humiliation.
Gramma Elle
“When you’re upset, you can either drown in your sorrows or drown your sorrows in chocolate.”
“HEY, GRAMMA,” I SAY, standing in front of her while she rocks on the front porch. I lean on the railing, glancing between her and the water.
“Hey, honey. How’s everything?”
I shrug, like a pre-teen who has forgotten how to speak. She raises her brows at me.
“Have you ever felt like you’re supposed to be with someone and you’re just... not?” I ask.
“Yes,” she answers with a pained laugh.
“He’s home and didn’t call.”
Her lips twist like she just tasted something sour.
“Which is perfectly fine, it’s not like we had spoken in months. Greece is very far away. But when I ran into his sister at the grocery store, she said he was home and that I should go see him. So I did and a woman answered the door.” I pause for effect. “I can’t tell if it was a cruel joke by Bianca or if she didn’t know, but the woman did not seem like a one-night stand by any means.”
Gramma hums in response, empathy swelling in her eyes.
I run a hand down my face. “And she’s beautiful. I mean, completely gorgeous.”
“Well, have you seen JP?” She shrugs, and I narrow my eyes on her.
“Have you?” Because this is dream Gramma. JP has never been here, nor was she around by the time I met him.
She halfway smiles and taps the arm of the rocking chair twice.
A sharp pain shoots through my mouth. I reach up and a tooth falls into my palm. “Oh no,” I gasp.
Gramma smiles. “Change is coming.”
