“I’m here,” I breathe, then wipe my palms on my pants. Why am I so nervous?
He says, “Gracie.” He’s over five thousand miles away and he still makes me melt when he says my name.
He’s quiet for several seconds. Is he still there? Maybe he regrets calling me?
“Sol? Are you still there?”
“Yeah,” he answers promptly. “Can you talk? You texted back and I didn’t stop to think—”
“Yes, I can talk,” I cut him off before he talks himself into disconnecting the call.
He exhales, and I can hear the smile in his voice when he asks, “How are you?”
“Good.” Better after hearing your voice. “Are you still in Italy?”
I shut my eyes tight and shake my head. What a stupid question. Of course he is. Was the country code number not clear enough?
I sigh and open my eyes, reach for the bottle of water on my desk and drink deeply before setting it back.
“Yeah.” Silence, then, “Just a few weeks before my doctor clears me to travel.”
“Mom told me you had malaria?”
“I did. I started feeling sick a few days before flying back to Italy,” he says. “I guess the anti-malaria medication wasn’t one hundred percent effective. My doctor says my immune system was low due to stress and . . .” he trails off. He clears his throat, then says, “I really wanted to keep in touch while I was there, but my group was stationed in a remote part of the country. I couldn’t—I didn’t want you to think I didn’t mean what I said.”
Guilt. That’s what I feel right now. I’d assumed the worst of Sol. I glance at the fries and burger next to the laptop, and all I want to do is hurl them across the room.
Ugh.
“So, how’s Thanksgiving so far? Is your mom doing ok?” he asks, changing the topic. It doesn’t make me feel better, though.
“Um, not bad. Mom is on a cruise with her boyfriend—so I had dinner with my grandparents—”
“Wait, a boyfriend? And dinner with your grandparents?” He sounds shocked. Almost excited.
I smile. “Yeah. His name is Chris. He’s really good for her. I guess your uncle hasn’t told you.”
“I’m not sure if he knows. And even if he did, we never got around to talking about it.”
I chuckle. “Your uncle and my mom are super close. There’s no way she hasn’t told him.”
The nervousness I was feeling before has vanished. Even after all this time apart, talking to Sol is just. . .easy.
“Okay, tell me how dinner went.”
It hits me right then that he might have other things to do and I’m probably holding him hostage. “Um, are you busy? I don’t want to hold you back or anything.”
“I’ve been laid up in bed the past few weeks, and the only people I talked to were Benedetta and Father Marco. Believe me, you’re not holding me back from anything.”
Benedetta? I remember that Sol is no longer a seminarian, which means he’s free to date. My chest burns and my breathing picks up. “Benedetta . . . is she your, um, nurse? I mean, not that it’s any of my business who she is. . .”
Ugh. The thought of Sol with another girl makes me nauseous.
Easy, Grace, you have a boyfriend.
“She helps in the rectory,” he says with a chuckle.
The burning stops, and shame settles in. It dawns on me that Sol felt the same thing—maybe a hundred times worse—when he saw me with Levi.
Shit. I’m a shitty person. I shouldn’t have let Levi kiss me.
“Oh, right. Haven’t you talked to Ivan?” I ask, changing the topic, not eager to dwell on how thinking of Sol with another girl makes me feel.
“You’re the first person I thought to call.”
I smile at his sweet words. How can Sol still make me feel this way? As if I’m the most important person in the world. I tried putting an ocean between us when I went to Europe, yet nothing changed. Nothing seems to help me with this affliction of wanting to be close to him.
“Gracie, you still there?” he asks after a beat. I didn’t realize I’d let my thoughts get away from me.
I let out a calming breath. “Um, yeah, yeah. Sorry, I was just thinking.”
“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”
“Just . . . how happy I am that you’re doing better. I was worried about you.”
“You were?”
“Yes. I hate that you were sick,” I tell him truthfully. No matter what happens between me and Sol, he’ll always hold a special place in my heart.
From the long pause, I imagine Sol is smiling through the phone at my words the same way I was just moments ago after hearing his. After a moment, he continues.
“So, you were going to tell me about Thanksgiving.”
“Right. Well. It was pretty much a disaster.” I prop my pillow, then lie down on the bed. “Before we even got our food, my grandfather went off about my mom being weak because she allowed me to choose James Fredericks over Brown.”
“What about your grandmother? What did she have to say?”
I sigh, and drink from my bottle again. “Not much. She seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me. I felt bad. I could tell how hurt she was that her husband didn’t make more of an effort. I ended up storming out of the restaurant before we had a chance to talk.”
“Grace, I’m sorry. That sucks.”
“Thanks, it’s okay, I guess. I mean, I gave them a chance.”
“No, it’s not Grace. How could anyone not want to get to know you? How could anyone not see from the first time they meet you what an incredibly smart and kind and loving and special person you are? You’re amazing, Grace. Not to mention beautiful, inside and out.” He lets out a large huff, and I imagine he’s pacing the floor of his small room, tugging on his hair the way he does whenever he gets flustered or upset.
“Sol, really it’s fine. It’s not like I’d ever had them in my life before.” I shrug. “I’m not missing anything.”
“It’s their loss,” he says with conviction.
Silence stretches between us as seconds pass, maybe even minutes. The line crackles, then it goes quiet again.
“Hello? Sol, you still there?”
“Yeah, look, Grace. I have to go. I’m about to run out of minutes on my phone card.”
“Oh, okay, well, thanks for calling. When will you be ba—” The phone goes dead before I can even finish. I turn my phone around and just stare at it, as if I can will Sol to call me back.
After a couple of minutes, I realize how silly I’m being and toss the cell across my bed. Sitting back up, I mindlessly munch on fries as I think about my conversation with Sol. It shouldn’t make me so happy to think of him being so upset on my behalf, but for some reason it does. Looking across my pathetic spread of what amounts to a deep-fried heart attack in a bag, I can’t help but laugh. Well, this will be one Thanksgiving I’ll never forget.
My phone starts to ring, and I dive for it where I threw it. Disappointment rushes through me as I stare at Emily’s name flashing on the screen. I debate about answering the call or letting it go to voicemail. After talking to Sol, I’m in a good mood and I don’t want anything bringing me down.