Page 33 of The Last to Let Go
Watching you run away from me right now... Wow. You almost just plowed a kid down in the hall! You really are in a hurry. Ha.
Then 2:25:GURRRRL, you are SUPER serious!
Hmm, what are we going to do about that??? lemme think...
At 3:33:Hey! It’s dani. Remember me? Your brilliant study buddy? Umm... are you getting these?
OMG, you gave me a fake number, didn’t you? Ouch.
And 4:51:OK, now you’re giving me a complex :(
JK... well, sort of ;)
I stare at the words for a long time. They make me smile, against my will. But how do I respond to this girl, this girl who’s normal enough to thinkI’msomehow normal enough to know how to do this—whateverthisis? How do I respond to frowny face and winky face?
Hi, I begin.
I delete. I try again.
Hey
Delete.
Oh, hi
Wrong—delete.
Sorry, just saw this
Delete, delete, delete, delete.
I start typing at least a dozen messages, but no words are adequate, no words make me seem cool enough, sane enough. No words leave me feeling safe. Because no matter what I write, I’m opening myself up to something I’m not sure I can actually handle. Not right now. And maybe not ever.
Just then the door opens. Callie walks through, followed by a short-statured man. His jacket has elbow patches, and his thinning hair is speckled white. “Well, you must be the famousBrooke,” he says, stepping toward me.
“Famous?” I repeat, pocketing my phone as I stand.
He shrugs noncommittally. “What can I say, I lead a sheltered life. Please, come on in,” he says, his smile never fading as he holds his door open.
Callie eyes me suspiciously.
“I’ll only be a minute,” I tell her.
No response.
I cross over to the other side of the door. It feels warmer in here, softer, dimmer. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that this room is lit by lamps, rather than the overhead fluorescent lights of the waiting room that make everything look vaguely neon, not quite real, like we’re in a fish tank ourselves.
He closes the door behind us and walks past me to take a seat on the couch. He crosses one leg and holds his hand out, gesturing to me. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”
I take a seat opposite him.
“So, what’s on your mind?”
“Um,” I begin. “Well, thanks for agreeing to see me on such short notice. I just wanted to check in, I guess.”
He nods slowly, uncertainly. Waiting, as if I haven’t finished my sentence.
“About Callie,” I clarify.
