“When am I ever wrong?”
“I’ll try to call him.”
“No you won’t,” Margot laughed.
“What?”
“Skye, you may have found yourself, but you’ve lost your balls.”
“That’s just rude,” I replied, giving her the finger. “Considering I told him not to call me while I was fixing my head, it seems a bit of a piss take to call him about this.”
“Call him.”
“I’ll call him,” I replied. She screwed up her face like she didn’t believe me. “Doing it now.”
“Righto.”
“I am!”
“Let me know how it goes.”
I stared at my phone, which was balancing precariously on the edge of the table. One call and the vibration would send it crashing to the floor. I placed my hand over it and sighed. Suddenly…I missed my balls. Margot was right. Lifting up my hand, I found it shaking. The thought of calling Will, of the possible rejection of being sent to voicemail or worse – him picking up and acting cold and uninterested – made me crazy.
I picked up the phone but tossed it on the bed, groaning as I did. Never was I more certain that Will was my soulmate, but Jesus, fuck, what if he didn’t feel the same?
I needed help and sound advice.
“Hey chickadee!” Stacey’s smile filled my laptop screen. She had a messy bun and her rose gold coin necklace was against her mouth as she pulled it backwards and forwards across the chain.
“I need you.”
She sat forward, dropping her jewellery and looking serious. “What’s wrong? Are you OK?”
“Yes,” I smiled. God, I loved this woman. “I was just putting some stuff together for the film and realised that I needed to ask Will if he wanted to be credited.”
She screwed up her nose. “Urgh. OK. Shit. I don’t know. What’s your gut telling you?”
“It’s telling me that he hates me, and he doesn’t even want his eyelash associated with this.”
Stacey fiddled with her hair. “He doesn’t hate you, Skye.”
She had a look of guilt that flashed away once she bit her lip. Stacey, Stacey, Stacey, how that lip bites gives you away. I leaned in. Narrowed my eyes. “What do you know?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She looked behind her shoulder and started to smile.
“Have you seen him?”
“Maybe,” she replied.
“How…is he?” I asked tentatively, unsure I wanted to know but still curious. Any news would be great. Details fabulous. I’d purposefully limited my conversations with Stacey to is he still breathing? Yeah? Great.
“He’s here, Skye. Do you want to talk to him because I’m pretty sure I can hear him pressed against my bedroom door.”
“I’m not.” I heard a muffled voice. A smile hit my face. “It’s all lies.” I was laughing now. Imagining the nerd in his glasses, sexy and ruffled without an ounce of understanding of how gorgeous he looked.
“Good, you look beautiful when you’re happy,” Stacey said, her sweater falling off one shoulder as she sat back.
“Is she happy?” His muffled voice again.
“She is now,” Stacey replied. “Are we really having this conversation through a closed door?”
“Safest distance,” Will replied, silence creeping in.
I arched my back, remembered my breathing through all the mindfulness sessions and yoga I’d practiced to calm the chaos in my head. “Can I see him?”
Stacey turned towards the door, waited and when he failed to open it, she said, “Skye would like to talk.”
I heard a thud, as if he’d dropped his forehead against the wood. An angsty head bash. “I don’t know, Stace. I’m not sure I’m ready for–”
Darkness fell over me, swallowing me in its starkness.
“Shit.”
I hit the laptop screen and groaned as several alarms started to blare. Shouts of, Power cut, filled the space outside, and laughter threaded through the blackout. I grabbed my phone to see if I could carry on the videocall but it was dead. “Great timing,” I said to no one as I got into bed, wrapping the duvet around me. Thunder hit the sky and the rain pounded against the window. The apartment I was sharing with a nurse from the clinic was not the best. The heating had failed more times than I could count, and we often had late-night singalongs dressed in hats, coats and scarves a la my favourite scene in Beaches. I was always CC, of course. I would never have been Hillary. Too posh. Too put together.
I snuggled in and pulled a throw off the chair at the side of my bed. Draping it across the bed, I couldn’t help but wonder what Will’s words were going to be before the power cut and fucked me over.
I’m not sure I’m ready for…
Ready for what?
To see me.
To wave through a computer screen.
To pick up where we left off?
I really hoped he was.
Will
“What the fuck happened?” I pushed the door open and ignored the bash as it thudded against the wall. Stacey was desperately clicking her mouse, tapping then banging on the keyboard and cursing. “Where has she gone?”
“I don’t know,” Stacey replied. “It just went off.”
“How can it just go off?” I joined her bashing the laptop.
“Hey, Hulk. Ruin my laptop and you’ll ruin our friendship.”
“Stace, I love you, but GET HER BACK!”
“Hold on,” she replied. “A second ago you were listening to her through a door because you couldn’t bring yourself to talk to her directly.”
“She told me not to contact her.”
“She asked to talk to you, and you turned into a wreck,” she said.
“I’m generally a wreck. Nothing new to see here.”
She threw something that resembled Liberace’s wardrobe at its most garish. I think it was some kind of cushion. I dodged and it fell next to Reggie who sniffed it before settling himself down on it to sleep.
“What’s happening here?” Stacey demanded, eyeing me suspiciously. Matt was visiting his aunt and never had I wished more for him to walk through the door so he could distract her with his male escort repertoire because I didn’t want to have this conversation when I couldn’t make sense of it in my head.
“I don’t know. Don’t ask me.” I slumped onto her bed, threw my hands over my head. I felt the dip of the mattress as Stacey sat down next to me.
“What am I going to do with the two of you?” she asked as she fiddled with my hair. Curls had appeared from nowhere, blasting out of my head like an explosion at a toy stuffing factory. “Unkempt” didn’t cover it. That’s what heartbreak, homelessness and no job would do for you.
“She’s coming home soon. You can talk to her then.”
“Stace, where do I start?” I asked. “Tell me because I want to know.”
She crossed her legs and blew out a breath. “That’s hard for me to answer because I have no idea what’s going on in your head.” Neither did I; that was the problem. A slew of ideas, anxieties, negative beliefs and a fear of fucking us up circled most days. When I closed my eyes, I was overwhelmed by the tsunami of rolling dirge, AKA my thought process. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”