Wish We Never Started

12

At home, I shower and put on sweatpants and a hoodie. As promised, the weight of my phone rests in my palm with Sadie's contact information open.

The exhaustion I felt earlier seems to have melted away in some capacity, just from the fact I get to hear Sadie's voice again I suppose.

As the dial tone rings, I relax into the couch and wait for her to answer.

"What happened earlier?" She asks, not in a snippy way, but in more of a concerned way. Her greeting catches me off guard

"Diego was picking me up from a friend's house," I tell her, quickly changing the topic, "are you still taking a bubble bath?"

Sadie chuckles on the other end and I'm satisfied it was so easy to divert the conversation.

"Absolutely not. I'm in bed."

"Me too... kind of," I say, then hesitantly add, "what are you wearing?"

She hums, like she's carefully crafting her answer.

"Pajamas."

Not the answer I was looking for, but okay.

"Me too... kind of," I say again.

It's silent for a moment or two and I fear I've just made the conversation too awkward to continue. In the past, that question usually yielded different results. But not with Sadie.

"Do you want to come to my apartment for New Year's Eve? Shannon and me are having a little party but if you don't want to —"

Her tone is genuine, but I know she's adding the last part because of the bitterness that exists between her sister and me.

Without thinking, I blurt out "yes" before she even finishes the sentence.

"Awesome, I was really hoping you'd say that," she tells me with a sigh of relief.

"For real? You want me there?" I joke, picking at the extra fabric of my sweatpants.

"Well, yeah, I like you. You're cool. Is that enough validation?"

The last part makes my lips press into a tight line, but I shake it off because she said she likes me.

I bite my fingernail while and then quickly remember how Diego bats my hand away each and every time he sees me do this – so many germs under there.

"I like you," I tell her back, another set of words rolling out of my mouth like marbles.

God, there's a lot of things I wish I could take back from this conversation.

"I know," she says calmly, with what I imagine is a bashful smile but is probably nothing at all.

"I really wish I could see you tonight," I whisper, saying it as quietly as possible so it's a roll of the dice whether she hears me or not.

"It's kind of late and I work opening tomorrow," she whispers back, playfully mocking my tone.

I continue playing along, "I was hoping this could be our second date."

"At eleven p.m. in your apartment?"

Sadie laughs quickly, like it's something ridiculous but she also doesn't want to offend me.

"Hey, how come you've never offered to pick me up when we work the same shifts?" I ask now, shifting the topic once again.

"I thought you liked walking. Or whatever you do to get to work," Sadie tells me.

"I'm just joking," I reassure her, "I don't even know where you live. It could be crazy inconvenient for you. You don't know where I live, either, but if you'd come over tonight then you would know."

The line is silent for a second and I bite my lip, waiting for some kind of response that isn't the end-call beeping.

"I live in the apartment complex off of fifth and Chestnut. The new one. Apartment 4B, for your records," she pauses and I feel like I need to get a pen and paper pad, "so you know where you're going on New Year's Eve."

I love how she throws punches right back to me.

I know exactly where she lives. Her building is shiny and new and the apartments are much more expensive than what I pay.

It's about ten minutes away on the other side of town, in the art district, where most people my age live, including Diego.

Except technically Diego is on the line of the art district and the historical district, but who really cares? The mayor, maybe. I have never spent much time understanding the districts in the city.

"Diego lives near you. I know exactly where that is, actually," I tell her confidently, feeling regret from earlier. Diego could have easily dropped me off at her place, but what has passed is the past.

"Okay, so now my secret is out, I guess. Just don't come knocking on my door at three in the morning," Sadie says in a serious tone that makes me laugh.

"Why would I do that?"

Sadie starts laughing, too, and it goes on for at least thirty seconds. Times like this make me wish she was next to me.

"I should probably get going, like actually this time," she says, a bit muffled. Her words bring me back down to reality.

"Okay. I should too," I finally admit, even though I don't want to. I could stay on the phone with her all night.

"Goodnight Gabriel," she says softly, waiting for my response.

"Goodnight Sadie," I say back, but I don't move the phone from my ear or press to end the call.

"Are you going to hang up?" She asks after a few seconds.

"No," I say honestly, "are you?"

"No," she says, sleepiness present in her voice, and I hear rustling like it's her sheets, "I'm just going to fall asleep and wait for you to hang up."

I can't tell if she's being serious or funny, so I do the same thing and walk over to my bed, slipping into the sheets and under the covers.

"Alright then," I tell her, setting the phone down on my bed as I roll onto my side to sleep.

When I wake up, the call is over, and I look to see how long it lasted.

Four hours and thirty two minutes.

I lay on my back with the covers wrapped around me and stare at my phone screen, pulling up the email with the plane tickets from my mom.

My thumb scrolls to read the whole thing again, to look at the plane tickets and take it all in.

It never felt right; going home right now.

Maybe it's because the tickets were something "gifted" from my father, and not something I asked for or wanted in the first place.

Maybe it's the sour memories.

Either way, I pull up my mom's text messages and tell her I won't be able to make it home in December.