Page 176 of The Infiniteness of Yesterday
How do kids always know the exact thing to say to stab you in the heart?
“I’m sorry, sweetie, but when people end relationships, you don’t usually see them after that.”
“I understand,” she says in a huff. “But I didn’t ask him to stop being my friend like you did.”
Explaining this in a way for her to understand is harder than I thought. “Yeah, but Jameson was my boyfriend and not just my friend. That complicates things.”
“Whatever,” she says in a huff. “I don’t think it’s fair.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” I brush her damp hair off her shoulder. “I really am.”
She turns watery eyes to me. “He doesn’t hate me, does he? Is it because I didn’t say goodbye?”
“Aw, Roe.”
I’m suddenly wishing this is something I’d brought up in therapy, but since she hadn’t questioned things up until now, it hasn’t been something I’ve dwelled on.
Taking her chin in my hands, I tell her, “There’s no world in which Jae would ever hate you. Do you hear me? You are a wonderful, kind, smart, and amazing girl.”
“Will you text him and tell him I miss him and I’m sorry I didn’t say bye?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I haven’t had any conversations with him since he packed up his stuff and left and certainly didn’t plan on it. I feel guilty enough over how things ended as it is without talking to him and dredging everything up. But I can’t deny Monroe this request. Frankly, it was wrong of me to assume she’d be okay with him being cut so wholly from her life when he’s been such a huge part of it for the last two years.
“I’ll text him for you.”
Her eyes widen with excitement. “Right now?”
The lone dinosaur chicken nugget I ate sits heavy in my stomach. “Yeah, sure.”
Monroe grabs my phone off the couch cushions and hands it to me. “Here you go. Do it now.”
I set my plate down and type out a message, reading over it five or more times before I’m brave enough to click send.
Me: I know this message is coming out of the blue and I’m not expecting you to reply, but Monroe was telling me how much she misses you and she’s worried you hate her because she didn’t get to say goodbye. I told her there’s no way you could ever hate her, but I think she’d feel better hearing it from you.
I truly expect no response for him, figuring he has my number blocked, but a few minutes later my phone rings and a selfie of the two of us together in his car fills the screen.
I hate that I debate on answering it, but I do, because I’m terrified what hearing his voice might do to my well-being. But I can’t do that to Roe.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Can I talk to her?”
He doesn’t sound angry, he sounds … normal. Like himself. And somehow, I think that’s worse, because he sounds so familiar. Like my favorite blanket I like to cozy up with.
“Roe, it’s for you.” I hold the phone out for her.
She takes it from me, pressing to her ear. “Jae?” she asks, her eyes widening when he speaks. “You’re not mad at me, are you? I’m sorry I didn’t tell you bye. I didn’t know I wouldn’t see you again.”
The deep rumble of his voice reaches my ears, but I can’t make out the words.
“I miss you, too,” she says. “Can we hang out?” She listens to whatever he’s saying. “That’s what my mom said, but that doesn’t make any sense to me, because I didn’t tell you I wanted to stop being friends.” She pauses, listening again. “Oh. But you’re not mad at me, right?” He says something else to her. “Okay. I love you, too, Jae. Bye.”
She hangs up the phone and puts it back on the couch.
“Are you glad you got to talk to him?” I ask her.
