Page 65 of Lily In The Valley
Maverick sobered up a little. “Not even a text?”
“She texts. Sometimes. But she not really there.”
Xavier leaned back and looked out the window. “When’s the last time you felt like she was?”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. A tight swallow followed after. “Before Mrs. Charisse died.”
“Then maybe she’s still stuck in that moment,” he said. “And maybe part of you is, too.”
The table went quiet. We sat in that silence like men do, not uncomfortable, but charged. Each of us carrying something unspoken. That was what made this circle what it was. Noperformance. Just presence. Eventually, they started talking about some programs we could run by the community center director once construction was complete. I tuned in but didn’t add to the conversation.
Xavier glanced back at me. “You quiet again.”
“I’m listening,” I said.
But I wasn’t. Not really. I was already thinking about Seattle. About how many more days I could stomach not seeing her face. About how many times I’d check my phone before it broke me. About how many things I didn’t say the last time I saw her.
Wesley stretched. “You thinking of going up there, huh?”
I didn’t answer right away. Then, “yeah.”
“You going to tell her you coming?”
I shook my head. “She won’t respond anyway.”
Maverick leaned forward. “So, what’s the play?”
I stared down at the blueprints in front of me, lines crisscrossed with vision and purpose, and traced my finger along the paper, like it could tell me the future.
“I just need to see her,” I said. “That’s all.”
The door clicked shutbehind me like a period. Sharp. Final.
My apartment was dark except for the streetlight bleeding in through the blinds, throwing faint stripes across the living room wall. I didn’t bother turning on the lights. I just dropped my keys into the bowl by the door and stood there, not moving. Not thinking. Just breathing in the stillness. It didn’t used to feel this quiet.
There used to be movies playing in the background. Something old and classic that Kelly would inevitably fall asleep on. There used to be her voice from the kitchen, swearing up anddown that her nachos were better than mine. Used to be one of her spare bonnets on the nightstand, her charger tangled with mine, her lotion still on my hands long after she left the room.
I walked to the couch and sat down slow, as if the air itself had weight. My hoodie still hung over the back of the chair from the last time she’d worn it. I reached for it without thinking, pressing it to my face. It barely smelled like her anymore. Just laundry detergent and my own indecision.
I pulled my phone out again, thumb hovering over her name. I didn’t have anything new to say, and she didn’t have anything new to tell me. But still, I opened the thread. Her last text glared back at me. What had she meant? Was she talking about the fellowship? About me? About pushing me away before she could really fall? Or was she already gone, and that message was just her final apology? I tapped the message field. Typed. Deleted. Typed again. Then I closed the thread. I had her apartment’s address from helping her ship some stuff she couldn’t take on the plane.
I opened Google to search flights instead.
My suitcase sat in the back of my closet, dusty but ready. I pulled it out and started tossing clothes inside. A few t-shirts. Two hoodies. The gray one she used to steal even though she swore it was “nothing special.” I paused in the pantry. Grabbed an unopened bag of the spicy trail mix she loved from H-E-B. I tucked it in the front pocket of my suitcase. No not. No explanation. Just something that might make her smile. If she let herself.
By the time I zipped the bag, it was nearly 3:00 AM. My flight left at 6:00 AM. I sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand, the screen lighting my face with a soft accusing glow. I opened me and Kelly’s thread again. Typed.
Me
Let me know if you need anything.
Or if you just want somebody to talk to.
I’m still here.
You don’t have to go through this alone.
Delivered.
