First-Time Caller

Chapter 29

I hum while I do the dishes from our dinner, Maya somewhere behind me hunting down her shoes from wherever she flung them when she got home from school yesterday. The window is cracked, the cookies we made after homework are still warm, and there’s a feeling wedged under my rib cage that expands with every breath in and out. Like floating but better. Like a hug just shy of too tight.

Like a sweatshirt that smells faintly of wintergreen draped over my shoulders, a thigh pressed tight to mine.

“I’m a mastermind,” Maya says the second I shut off the water, her face pleased and more than a little smug. She looks like Grayson when she makes that face, but I keep that to myself. Apparently twelve-year-olds don’t enjoy being compared to their parents, no matter how bold the similarities.

I towel off my hands. “Yes,” I agree, and her smile widens into something toothy and crooked. A flash of the youth she’s quickly tumbling out of. I grin back. “Would you like to be more specific?”

Maya twirls her finger in my face, poking at the corner of my mouth. “This,” she says.

“What?” I laugh, swatting at her hand.

“Also this,” she says, poking me once in the middle of my chest. Right where that bubbly, warm feeling lives. “I had high expectations for my plan, but I think I’ve exceeded them.”

Her plan. The show. The manipulation of my love life.

“What is it you were hoping for?”

“Maybe a few dates,” she says, slipping into a beaten-up pair of Converse with the backs folded down. I told her I’d buy her the slip-ons, but she insists on mangling her footwear for some inconceivable reason. “Once he was looped in, Dad was hoping for a makeover moment.” I make a short, offended sound. “I was excited about a bunch of dudes duking it out for your affections. That part seemed pretty cool. Tier-one goal was to get you to believe in yourself.”

“There are tiers?”

“Tier two was some free meals and a doting public.”

I can feel the wrinkles forming on my forehead.

“And tier three was bumping uglies.” She blinks at me. “What? Don’t make that face. It’s an important goal.”

God help me. “Do you know what that means?”

“I have some ideas.”

“From who?”

“I’d rather not say.” She shrugs like I’m not having an existential crisis in the middle of my kitchen. “Let’s move on. Tier four was a hope but never an expectation.”

“Oh yeah?” After tier three, I’m not sure I want to hear it. My brain is stuck on the phrase bumping uglies . From the mouths of babes.

“Tier four was falling in love,” she tells me, distracted, finding her other shoe beneath the kitchen table. Her body twists as she wiggles it on. “Aiden was a surprise,” she mumbles.

My throat feels tight, my stomach somewhere by my toes. I wish I was still doing the dishes, just so I had something to do with my hands. “What do you mean?”

She scratches her nose and starts hunting for her backpack. “I did my research before calling in to his show. He was grumpy most of the time, but he seemed like he’d be willing to help. I thought he could help you find what you deserve, but . . .” She gives me a sly look. “He got invested pretty quick, huh?”

“I don’t know. Not that quick.”

Maya tips her chin down and gives me a look. “Sure, Mom.”

I feel properly chastised. “He was a surprise for me too.”

Isn’t that how it goes? The most precious, delicate things wedge themselves between the plans you’ve made for yourself. They wiggle in your arms and wrap their tiny fingers around your thumb after nine months of bone-deep panic. They barge into your kitchen looking for condiments.

They answer a phone call in the middle of the night.

There’s a ribbon wrapped around Aiden and me. It’s taken me a while to undo the tangles, but I’m tugging on it now.

“I just feel like, all things considered, I deserve some ice cream,” Maya adds conversationally.

I roll my eyes, doing my best to subdue my smile. “We had ice cream last night.”

“ More ice cream,” she says, slipping on her backpack and straightening the straps. “Three times a week, at least.”

“Is that the going rate for those who intervene in their mothers’ love lives?”

She nods. “I’ll get it in writing. Have my people talk to your people.”

“Noted.” I muss her hair and turn her gently in the direction of the back door. I can see Grayson waiting on his porch. Mateo is fluttering around the kitchen, probably trying to salvage whatever disaster Gray came up with tonight. “Be good for your dads, kiddo.”

She hops down the stairs, backpack bouncing with her. She stops on the last one and turns halfway, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, her face pensive. My heart gives one painful, adoring thud, right in the middle of my chest.

“You tell me all the time you have all the love you need. That you’re fit to burst with our family and all the people in it. But I thought, maybe just this once, you could have the love you deserve too.” She smiles. “Tier four.”

My nose burns. “Maya,” I rasp. I have to swallow around the love that’s making my throat feel tight. She smiles up at me and I think she knows. “Do you have any idea how much I love you?”

“Duh, Mom.” She laughs. Somewhere on the other side of the fence, I hear Grayson’s laugh echo it. Mateo’s too. She bounds across the yard, hair flowing behind her in the setting sun. Like a comet streaking across the sky. “Tell Aiden I say hi!”

I hear him before I see him, his low voice rumbling down the hallway of the otherwise silent station. I asked him if he needed a ride tonight—his Bronco is still in the back corner of the shop—but he said Jackson was giving him a lift. Apparently, everyone meets for a staff meeting on the last Wednesday of the month. I guess that’s still going on.

I decide to raid the break room for Aiden’s latest coffee hiding spot when I hear my name. I pause, shift on my feet, and listen. I hear it again, coming from down the hall. Close to Maggie’s office, where the door is wide open. I put the cookie/coffee tin down and consider my options. Eavesdropping is juvenile, but curiosity is a bitch. I’ll only listen for a second, I reason. They did say my name. Twice.

I creep closer.

“You haven’t told her.” Maggie sighs. “Aiden. We talked about this a week ago.”

“I know,” he says, sounding reluctant. I glance at the glass of the dark booth, a wavy reflection of them in Maggie’s office. It’s only the two of them, so . . . maybe not a staff meeting, after all. I watch mirror Aiden drag his hand through his hair. Anchor it against the back of his neck. “It hasn’t come up.”

“It hasn’t come up?” Maggie asks dryly.

“No. It hasn’t come up.”

“When will it come up?” Aiden doesn’t answer and Maggie makes another frustrated sound. But when she talks again, her voice is softer. “You can’t tell me you want her out of your booth and then boot her off the show without warning. That’s not how I want things to run here, Aiden.”

My stomach twists. He wants me out of his booth? Off the show? How long has he been talking to Maggie about this? A week? Longer?

Before I stayed the night at his place?

Before the bar?

I force my shoulders to relax. No. I won’t jump to conclusions. Aiden has never given me reason not to trust him. I’m not going to start making assumptions from a fragment of a conversation I wasn’t supposed to hear.

“You could just ask her,” I say as I step into view. Aiden’s head snaps in my direction. I give him a tight smile. “I heard she can be very reasonable.”

Aiden’s throat bobs with a heavy swallow. “Lucie,” he says. I wait for him to say something else, but he doesn’t. He just stares at me, a faintly panicked look on his face.

Maggie stands from behind her desk. “I’m going to go make some coffee.”

She slips out of her office with a squeeze of my arm, her heels clicking down the hall. Aiden and I hold eye contact, his face guarded like he was just caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

“She doesn’t drink coffee,” I finally say, hoping it cracks this weird tension between us.

He nods and stays silent. I can’t get a read on him. We’ve been texting and talking since I saw him two days ago, and everything felt fine, but maybe it’s not. Maybe I did something wrong.

I push off the doorframe and collapse in the bean bag in the corner of the room. It makes a light wheezing sound, and Aiden’s face shifts into something soft and amused.

“You want me off the show?” I ask.

He shakes his head, keeping his eyes on me. “No.”

“Then why did Maggie say—”

“Because.” He rubs his neck again, his thumb digging into the hollow beneath his ear. He blows out a breath and drops his hand. He looks exhausted. His whole body is a ruffled, rumpled slouch in Maggie’s chair. I think his shirt is on inside out. “This was always supposed to be temporary, Lucie. And I’m having trouble with that.”

My forehead scrunches. “You’re having trouble with temporary?”

He nods.

“Maggie said you want me out of the booth,” I say slowly. “That’s what I heard.”

He keeps his eyes steady on me. “She’s mistaken.”

“Oh.”

He leans forward and drops his elbows on his knees, his fingers knit between them. “Maybe in the beginning, that’s how it was. But that’s not how it is anymore.”

Relief is swift and sudden in the middle of my chest. “I hope not.”

He shakes his head. His foot shifts forward until the sides of our boots are pressed together. His eyes are bright like gemstones in the dim light of Maggie’s office, his dark hair messy from the constant press of his fingers. “I’m having trouble letting you go.”

“That’s okay,” I say, my voice a rasp. “I don’t want you to let me go.”

“I should, though.” He looks down at his hands, our boots still pressed together. I want to scratch my fingers through his hair. Ease whatever it is that’s making him so weary. “I should,” he says again, softer this time, like he’s trying to convince himself of the fact.

“We knew the show would be temporary, but other things don’t have to be. I’m leaving Heartstrings , Aiden. I’m not leaving—” You , I almost say. But a sudden burst of shyness wraps its fingers around my neck and squeezes. I swallow around it. “You’re stuck with me,” I try to joke.

He still doesn’t look at me. Somewhere in the hallway, a door slams. “What do you think?” he asks our feet. “Next week?”

I tap the side of his shoe with mine. “For what?”

He finally meets my eyes and it’s . . . smoke and mirrors again. He’s holding himself away from me, exactly the way we started, and I have no idea why. “Your last show,” he explains.

“Oh.” I rub my lips together. “Yeah. Sure, yeah. That’s fine with me.”

“All right.”

“Okay.”

“Good.” He nods, holding my eyes for another extended moment before he drops them back to our interlocked feet. “That’s . . . good.”

“Aiden,” I whisper, hating whatever this is. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” He reaches for my hands, his thumbs tracing over my knuckles. “I think I got too used to you in the spot next to me. I’ll be fine. Promise.”

I squeeze. “I like the spot next to you.”

He gives me a half smile. “Yeah. Me too.”

Aiden’s melancholy doesn’t disappear when we start the show. In fact, it gets worse. He spaces out several times. He forgets half of his usual intro. He doesn’t transition us to the commercial break smoothly. He just switches the feed and presses his thumb in the middle of his forehead. I knock my knee to his and his arm snaps under the table, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of my thigh like he’s afraid to let me go. Like I might float away.

“Aiden,” I try, my voice low and my hand cupped over the microphone. “Are you all right?”

“M’fine,” he mumbles, but his eyes are still scrunched shut tight. “Just a headache, I think.”

I frown. “Do you need anything?”

He mumbles something under his breath. Jackson appears on the other side of the window with his arms crossed, a concerned look on his face. I shrug at him and his frown deepens.

“Aiden,” I say again. “Can I get you something? Medicine?”

“No.” He pokes at his keyboard without looking at me and waves Jackson off. “I’m all right. Let’s just—let’s finish the show.”

“If you’re sure,” I say slowly.

“I’m sure.”

We’re supposed to go to phone calls after the break, but I try to encourage him to just play music instead. But he’s stubborn, in addition to whatever the hell else is going on, and he turns us over to the phone lines as soon as the last commercial plays.

“Welcome to Heartstrings . You have Aiden and Lu—” Aiden stumbles over my name, shooting me a quick, indecipherable look from the corner of his eye. “Lucie here.” He clears his throat. “What can we help you with tonight?”

I’m not convinced we can help anyone with anything tonight. Not with the strange mood Aiden is in. But I unwrap a chocolate mint and place it on the corner of his notepad anyway, doing the same with mine while I hope for the best. He likes to eat his chocolate after the second caller, like he’s rewarding himself for good behavior. I eat mine halfway through the first, too impatient to wait.

The caller on the other side of our headphones clears their throat. “I’m not sure—” He laughs and I recognize the sound of it. I pause with my chocolate and tilt my head to the side, trying to place the familiar sound. “Lucie? From the garage, Lucie?”

I feel Aiden’s attention on me. “Yes,” I answer slowly. I meet Aiden’s narrow-eyed stare and shrug. I have no idea either.

A gusting, pleased breath whooshes in my ears. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere,” he says, delighted. “It’s Colin.”

“Oh.” I’ve never met a Colin in my life. “Hello.”

There’s a pause. “You don’t remember me.”

I wince. “Um, no? Not really. I’m sorry.”

Colin sighs and Aiden shifts in his chair next to me. “I thought I made an impression, but that’s okay. I’m Rosie’s dad. The guy with the Chevy.”

A laugh bursts out of me. “Oh, hi! Yes! I remember you. Rosie should be ready any day now. I was going to call.”

“Well, now I’m calling you,” he says, voice light. “Did you get my flowers?”

The pen Aiden is holding snaps, black ink spilling on his notepad. I frown at him.

“Flowers?” I ask.

“Yeah. Some roses. Same red as Rosie. About a week ago. There should have been a card.”

There wasn’t. Everyone in the shop unanimously decided to give them to Harvey. He’s a bit of a sap when it comes to decorating his workstation.

“Oh, yeah. There were flowers. No card, though.” I pause, feeling awkward. “Sorry about that.”

“Ah, it’s no worries. A beautiful woman deserves beautiful flowers.”

“Oh. Um. Thank—thank you.” I stammer. My face feels like it’s on fire. Aiden is still staring at his notepad, silent. I have no idea what to do with myself. I feel like I’m standing in the middle of the ocean without a life raft, and Aiden is waving from the deck of a ship as he slowly passes by. “Did you want to hear a song, or . . .”

I kick Aiden under the table. He jolts in his seat. “Yeah,” he agrees, sullen. “Want to play a tune for Rosie?”

Colin chuckles. “I was hoping I could play a song for Lucie, if that’s all right?”

Oh boy. Oh god. I officially want the planet to swallow me whole. I want to become one with the magma within the Earth’s crust. I guess Ms. Shirley was right. “Colin, that’s really sweet, but—”

“What song?” Aiden asks, cutting me off.

“‘Gasoline’ by Audioslave. You know? Because Lu is a mechanic?”

“That’s lovely,” Aiden deadpans. “Sounds like you’re an excellent candidate for ‘Lucie’s Road to Love, sponsored by Mr. Tire.’”

I stare at him, my heart in my throat. I cover my microphone with my hand. “Aiden. What are you doing?”

Colin laughs nervously on the other end of the line. “I mean, yeah. I was sort of hoping she’d be interested.”

“She is,” Aiden says, and something dark and ugly sinks like a knife between my shoulder blades. I’m not and he knows that. He knows it. “Hold tight for me, Colin. We’ll get you guys set up after this song.”

He stabs the buttons on his keyboard and rips off his headphones before the song can start. I hear a guitar riff and slowly slip my headphones off too.

Silence stretches thick between us. I’m waiting for an explanation that Aiden has no intention of providing.

“I’m interested?” I finally ask, while Aiden continues to try to mop up the spilled ink from his broken pen, his jaw clenched tight and his knee bouncing up and down.

“He seems like a nice guy,” Aiden bites out, tossing a heap of wet napkins into the wastebasket. Ink is smeared across his notebook, a deep slash of black.

“So, you decided to sign me up for a date?” I hate how my voice is wobbling. It makes me feel weak. Worse, it makes me feel stupid.

He shrugs his shoulders. “He sent you flowers.”

“And?”

“You never told me someone sent you flowers.”

Because I didn’t think they were for me. No one has ever sent me flowers before. “I didn’t—”

“You seem to have common interests,” Aiden continues, talking over me. “Things to talk about.”

“I mean, car repair is more of a job than an interest, but—”

“He’s a good choice for you. The right choice.”

I shake my head. “You said I’d be the boss. That I’d get to decide.”

Aiden nods, finally meeting my eyes for the first time tonight. But they look wrong. Distant. Guarded. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair. “I’m just nudging you in the right direction. Sometimes you need a nudge.”

I flinch. “What are you—” My voice breaks in the middle. “What’s happening right now?” I manage on a whisper.

Aiden’s eyes fall to my knees. I feel like I’ve swallowed an entire nest of bees, an anxious buzzing in my throat. I swallow around it, but it gets worse the longer he doesn’t answer.

“Aiden.” I say his name and his eyes soften. But he still doesn’t look at me. “You want me to go out with this guy?”

His hand rises and I notice a faint tremble before he drags his thumb below his bottom lip. He takes his time to answer, and that’s a different sort of pain. A crack in the middle of my chest.

“He’s good for you,” Aiden repeats.

“How’d you gather that?” I ask, the ache slowly twisting itself into something fiery hot. “Got everything you need from a twenty-second phone call? Or were you just hoping to shove me off on the first halfway decent guy who called in?”

Aiden’s eyes snap back to mine. “Lucie—”

“Off the show. Out with someone else. Did I do something wrong?” I ask. His weird mood. The conversation that wasn’t meant for me to hear. The way he won’t tell me what he wants. The way he won’t tell me anything. I’ve had to pull and prod and pry for every little bit I get. I try to bite down around the edges of my frustration, but I can’t. I’ve been more honest with Aiden than with anyone in my life, and he can’t return the favor. I thought we were on the same page, but apparently we aren’t even in the same library.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he says. Frustration flashes behind his eyes. The first sign of honest emotion I’ve gotten out of him tonight. “You said this is what you wanted.”

“When?”

He tosses his hands up. “Since the very start, this is what you said you wanted. Romance and effort and magic. He’s playing a song for you. He brought you flowers.”

“I’d hardly consider Audioslave romantic , Aiden.”

He gives me a withering look. “Don’t be cute.”

“Then don’t be stupid,” I immediately fire back.

He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “I’m being pragmatic.” He reaches forward and punches another three buttons on his keyboard. “I’m killing myself over here,” he mumbles under his breath. “Trying to give you what you want and you—”

“You’re giving yourself what you want,” I seethe from between clenched teeth. The urge to curl both of my hands in the front of his shirt and shake him until he understands is all-consuming. “Don’t play stupid. You’re making it easier for you.”

Aiden freezes, half hunched over his programming software. I keep going.

“You are what I want, Aiden. But for some inconceivable reason, you don’t seem to believe me when I say it.”

Aiden blinks at me. “But you said—” He has to take a second to compose himself. “You said you wanted it to be a secret.”

I shake my head. “I never said that.”

“You said you wanted everything to stay exactly the same.”

“I meant seeing you, being with you, talking to you. I meant I didn’t want to talk about what’s going on between us live on the air.”

His face collapses. “You said you wanted fun.”

“You’re the only person I want to have fun with. You’re the only person I want anything with. Maybe this started as fun, but now it’s different. Isn’t it?”

I wait for him to answer. He remains silent. His mouth opens, then snaps shut, then opens again. His forehead collapses in frustration.

“Lucie,” he whispers, my name broken into two stiff syllables. I usually love how he says my name, but right now I don’t like it at all. It’s the start of a sentence I don’t want to hear. “I’m not good for you.”

He says it like a fact, like it’s something he’s known all along. That we were never, ever going to work and I’m the silly girl who believed differently. My stomach rolls and I blink down at my hands.

I’ve been here before. I know this feeling. The sinking realization that my feelings don’t match up. That I’ve felt too much too fast and made assumptions. Misread the situation and projected my own hopes on another person.

But things are different with Aiden. I know they are. I haven’t misread anything.

“Bullshit,” I whisper.

I hear the rustle of fabric as Aiden shifts in his seat. “Lucie, listen—”

I lift my chin and ignore the pressure behind my eyes. “I said bullshit . What you’re saying is bullshit. I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t—” he starts again, but I don’t let him finish.

“No,” I snap, cutting him off. My voice is calm despite the rattling in my chest, my words slow and precise. “I think you tell yourself you don’t deserve the things you want so it’s easier for you to manage your expectations. It won’t hurt if you don’t care, right? How many lies have you told, Aiden?”

His face is guarded. An animal backed into a corner. “I’m not lying about this, Lucie. I can’t give you what you want.”

I shake my head. “I’m the one who decides that. Not you.” I roll my chair to the side and pluck out another chocolate, carefully unwrapping it, my heart thundering in my chest. It helps to focus on this menial task and not on the way I’m splintering into pieces. “You don’t like your job. You don’t believe in love. You’re not good for me.” I repeat every excuse and sidestep I’ve heard from him over the last month. “It’s easier like this, isn’t it?”

His eyes flash. “I wouldn’t call this easy.”

“But it is. For you, it is. Better end it now before you get in too deep and risk hurting, right? You’re so used to distancing yourself from any sort of feeling that you don’t even realize you’re doing it anymore. You watch clips of movies because you don’t want to get invested in a stupid story. You skipped vacation with your parents because it’s easier to love them at a distance than up close. You settled for fun with me because it made you feel like there wasn’t a risk. But I won’t sit here and listen to you diminish what I feel because you’re scared of what might happen.” His jaw clenches tight as I search his face. I can see it there, in the press of his mouth. He’s still afraid—even with me—and that hurts almost as much as everything else. That despite everything, he isn’t willing to try.

“I could let myself love you so easily, Aiden,” I whisper. My words hit him like a bulldozer. His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. His hands curl into fists. He sucks in a sharp breath and holds it in his lungs before releasing it again. For a second, I see the boy who looped an empty key ring on a chain and called it a lucky charm. Then his eyes shutter, and he’s the man who doesn’t believe in anything.

I press my lips together. “I won’t be scared away. I know what this is. I can feel it,” I say. With every touch, every laugh, every glance he shoots in my direction, I feel it. I try to smile, but it falls flat. I’m trying so damn hard not to cry. “I can be brave enough for the both of us. I can make my own magic. You just have to give me a reason to.”

His mouth opens and then snaps shut. He looks terrified. His eyes are blown wide, the lines of his body in rigid precision. He really didn’t expect me to feel anything other than convenience, and the reality of it makes my chest hurt.

Aiden never stopped believing in love. He forgot how to. He built a fortress around his heart to protect himself and lost the key somewhere along the way.

“Give me a reason to, Aiden.”

We stare at each other. I wait for him to say something, but he’s silent. The music player skips to the next song. From my headphones, I hear the tinny, faraway sound of the same Louis Armstrong song I requested our first night together. I almost laugh.

We’re ending where we started, I guess.

I start collecting the things I’ve left on my side of the desk over the past month. My notepad. My candies. A few hair ties. A pale blue Post-it Note with the worst smiley face I’ve ever seen doodled in the corner. I hesitate, then remember the low rumble of his laugh when he drew it, and grab it with the rest of my stuff. I slip everything in my bag and stand from my chair.

“Lucie. No.” Aiden’s hand curls around my wrist, holding me still. “Don’t go.”

I stare hard at his fingers against my skin, how his thumb traces over the delicate vein on the inside of my wrist. I can hear the thread of apprehension in his voice. It’s all hinting at what he feels about me, but it’s not enough. I need the words. I told myself I wouldn’t settle and that applies to this feeling with Aiden too.

“Tonight is my last show. I know you probably feel like I’m punishing you, but I’m—” I press my lips against the tremble vibrating in my bones and compose myself. Brave. I can be brave. “Not wanting me to go isn’t the same as wanting me to stay. I want you, Aiden. No one else. You decide what happens next, okay?”

I tug myself out of his hold before I give in to the temptation to make it easier for him. His fingertips trace down the palm of my hand, along the ridges of my knuckles until the last possible second. Like he can’t help himself. Like he wants to hold on.

“My feelings aren’t going to change,” I tell him quietly. “You let me know when you’re ready to talk. I’ll be”—I swallow, my heart in my throat—”I’ll be listening.”

AIDEN VALENTINE: Colin? You still there?

COLIN PARKS: Yeah! I’m here.

COLIN PARKS: You left me on hold for like seventeen minutes, man.

AIDEN VALENTINE: I’m, uh, I’m sorry. Something came up.

AIDEN VALENTINE: Lucie had to go.

COLIN PARKS: Oh. That’s too bad.

[pause]

COLIN PARKS: Is she coming back?

AIDEN VALENTINE: I don’t think so, Colin.

COLIN PARKS: She still wants to go on that date, right?

AIDEN VALENTINE: I think I messed up, Colin.

COLIN PARKS: With the date, or . . .

AIDEN VALENTINE: With everything.