“Everyone fucks up at one time or another. Maybe we can help you decide what to do now. Do you know what you want?”
The thing was, that’s what they’d say to anyone. We’d talked about how they facilitated calls to make things go smoothly, to get to the point fast without people noticing they were being herded straight for it.
I was relieved to be herded. “Well, I want to...um...open communication. With someone. I mean I have this friend who fucked up and wants to open communication with the person their fuck-up most hurt. Theoretically. So, like, how do you approach someone you flipped out all over and then hid from because you were too ashamed to talk to them?”
“I think there’s a lot to untangle there, but ultimately if you think you hurt someone, you can always offer an apology. Maybe they’ll accept it and agree to talk to you. Maybe they’ll accept it and want it to end there. Or maybe they’ll be too hurt to accept your apology at all.” Their eyebrows rose just a little. “You won’t know until you try. But I think if you feel bad about how your actions affected someone, that’s where you start.”
It was a really good Spinster Uncle answer. I couldn’t tell where Sidney came down on those options. “So you think I just—I mean my friend just...barges in and vomits apologies all over?”
Their lips twitched. “I’m not sure that would be appreciated. But I do think it’s valid, as long as the behavior was within reasonably healthy bounds for a relationship, to request to be heard. And the only way to do that is to...do it.”
“Right. Um. Yeah. Good points.” I swallowed. “Is this a situation where you think I just text and ask if they want to talk to me? Would that be too intrusive?”
“I think that would be appropriate. One text. I would follow up by email if you get no response, and let it go completely if you get no response there either.”
“Yeah, that...sounds good. I mean not the no-response thing. The having-a-plan thing. Thanks.”
They smiled, said, “Thank you for calling,” and disconnected me.
But because I was watching the livestream, I saw the breath they took, the pause that lasted a beat longer than you’d expect.
“Let’s do one more question, this one by message...”
My heart was still pounding. My chest was still achy. But I’d spoken to them. And they seemed receptive. Ish. Leaving room for rejection later.
Fuck it. They kept their phone on silent for shooting. I opened a text, experiencing a pang of regret when I saw their familiar name and color scheme (yes, of course I have color schemes for different people, what kind of caveman doesn’t color code their phone contacts?).
I stared at the screen and lectured myself. Just do it. Do it right now. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars.
What could I possibly say? Oh god. This was somehow harder than calling the show.
Hi, it’s me. Um, no.
How have you been? What were we, business associates?
I’m so fucking sorry I can barely eat or sleep. Okay, that was definitely not a healthy apology.
I’m sorry.
I stared at it.
Weak sauce? Yes. But wholly and entirely true. Without a doubt.
What, just that? Just “I’m sorry” like that could possibly make up for knocking on their door, losing my shit, and running away?
I hit send. That had to be the best place to start, anyway.
I’m so sorry. I would love to see you or talk to you. Or email, also fine. Any form of communication, dealer’s choice.
I sent that too.
Um, this is where I stop texting so as not to be a creeper since I know you’re still shooting. But I want it on the official record that I would really like to talk to you and my lack of spammed texts is meant to be respectful, not to...express lack of interest. Or investment. Or anything.
I didn’t even reread that block of text before sending. Then I closed the app and put my phone in my pocket.
I took it back out to make sure it was on both vibrate and sound. Now would be a good time to drive home, but what if I somehow still missed their reply? If they sent a reply.
I navigated back to YouTube, but the stream had ended.
Oh god.
The stream had ended.
They could be reading my texts right—
The phone vibrated and dinged.
I am open to calling, texting, email, or in person. I have time available in about fifteen minutes for any of the above.
Ding. With a slight preference for in person, but no pressure.
Fifteen minutes was just enough time to drive over there. I sent back, I’m on my way. Then added, Do you have food or should I pick something up? Which might be a little presumptuous, but I hadn’t eaten since lunch and I knew they’d want to eat before going to bed.
That would be good. No preference on food.
I sent back a smiley. What the hell.
Okay, so, best takeout between my work and Sidney’s: and go.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
I got Thai, because that seemed safe and neutral, until I was walking up the stairs to their apartment and remembered that the first time we’d had Thai food was after sex, standing in their kitchen, eating a meal so we could get back to banging.
Would they think I was insinuating something with my choice of food? No, right? We’d had it a couple of times and I knew their order, that was all. It was a logical and totally-not-based-on-sex choice. Right?
I stopped walking in the middle of the stairs and seriously considered going back out for something else.
But that was madness. I was here now, nearly to their door. Only a fool would squander this momentum.
I put my head down and kept marching.
They opened the door looking more tired in real life than on screen. “Hey.”
“Hey.” I held up the bag of food. “I would like to...offer this food. As a token of my apology. And also as sustenance. And I’m absolutely not implying we should have sex tonight it’s just the first food I could think of that I knew your order for,” I finished in a rush.
“Noted. Come in.” Their eyes seemed a little hooded behind their glasses, as if they were wary, or maybe just exhausted.
The apartment was exactly the same. Which made sense, since it had only been three weeks. I handed over the bag and stood there like a lump watching Sidney get us plates and utensils. It felt like my kitchen familiarity rights had been revoked so I couldn’t do anything but watch.
Oh, and put my stuff down in a pile. As usual. That was probably still permitted.