Chapter 4
I wake realizing two things. I’m about to be very late for the honor society breakfast, and Tyler is gone.
Even with my eyes still closed, I already feel his absence.
Slowly, I peel my lids open, turning to where his body was mere hours ago.
Beside my head lies a torn piece of paper.
I pick it up, noticing the bottom half of the name Hemingway along the torn edge.
He must have ripped it from the front of his book to leave me a note.
My eyes roam the page, reading what he’s written in the same precise handwriting I saw in the margins of his book.
Jo,
I’m sorry I’m leaving without saying goodbye.
(Don’t worry, I locked the door so you’d be safe.
I may be a good guy, but who knows about the rest of them.) I need to check on my roommate and get him back to our hotel.
You look too peaceful to wake, so I hope you’ll forgive me that you’re just getting a note.
But I want you to know you’re like no one I’ve ever met and I’ll never forget tonight.
I hope the universe does bring us back together.
Here’s my number. Please call me, Jo. Any hour of the day.
Tyler
555-876-9830
I’m grinning like an idiot as I search the room for my skirt and sweater to finish getting dressed.
Quickly, I check my phone to see I don’t have time to go to my dorm to change, so I run to the bathroom to make myself as presentable as possible.
I finger-comb my messy hair, find some mouthwash in the medicine cabinet and swish a few times before running back to the library for the note and my phone.
Taking a few breaths in and out, I prepare for the upcoming walk of shame and head downstairs, still clutching the note between my fingers.
At the front door, I stop dead in my tracks.
Shit. It’s raining cats and dogs and I don’t have an umbrella.
I’ll be a drowned rat by the time I get to the art building.
Honestly, at this point I should skip it altogether, but my favorite professor will be there.
Mentally, I count to three and head into the deluge, running as fast as I can down the sidewalk, rain sloshing under my feet with every step.
At the crosswalk, I jab the button on the street pole with my thumb and wait my turn to cross.
A car flies past and as their tires hit a puddle, a spray of rainwater splashes me, completely drenching me from head to toe.
I look down, only to realize I’m still clutching Tyler’s note.
I turn it over and my good mood vanishes, all hopes dashed, because the rain has smudged the ink.
The note is still there, but the ink has bled to the point the only numbers I can make out is the area code.
One night was enough. We had one single memory together, it was perfect, and that’s plenty, right?
Yes, I tell myself, but I know it’s a lie.
Squeezing my eyes shut, I will myself not to cry, but it’s no use.
Fat hot tears mix with the rain droplets spilling down my face.
I stand, letting the rain drench me. Maybe I’m a stupid hopeless romantic, but I let myself believe the trickle of raindrops are his fingertips drifting across my skin.
The rain dancing down my cheeks is actually his lips.
As rivulets of rain slide to my neck, I picture his hands there instead.
I know I just met him. He’s just a guy. But tiny fissures form in my heart at the thought that I will, most likely, never talk to him again.
I will spend the rest of my life watching the wrong love story unfold.
Dramatic? Maybe. But right now, my heart is certain of this one thing.
FIVE WEEKS LATER
“Jo! If you’re riding with me, you better hurry your fine ass up!
” Desiree yells from the living room of our tiny summer apartment.
We’ve been subletting it since we started our internship together.
She and I hit it off on day one, like we’d known each other forever.
When her apartment fell through, I offered to let her crash with me.
It’s only a one-bedroom, but we make it work with an air mattress.
“Three more minutes,” I call weakly, my body hunched over the porcelain rim of the toilet. I’m on day five of this, heaving up what little I’ve been able to eat.
Pushing to my feet, I rinse my mouth, catching sight of my pallid complexion in the mirror.
The dark circles under my eyes are slowly becoming more pronounced, despite the fact I sleep every chance I get.
I haven’t even had the energy to straighten my curly hair and it falls in blonde ringlets around my face.
Desiree’s footsteps echo down the hall, then she’s leaning against the doorframe, eyebrows raised.
“Girl, you look like shit.”
“I feel like shit,” I groan. “I thought this stomach virus would’ve passed by now.” I spin to face her. “Do you think I have parvo? I swear I heard the other day humans can catch parvo. I read it on the internet, and I did pet that stray dog last week at the park.”
Desiree rolls her dark brown eyes to the ceiling. “Bitch, you do not have parvo. And whoever wrote that, well, they’re a dumbass. You know you can’t believe anything on the internet.” Her face scrunches, like I won’t like what she’s about to say. “Have you thought about taking a pregnancy test?”
Her words land like a punch to the gut. I blink up at her, the floor tilting beneath me. A cold knot of dread forms in my stomach.
“I-I’m on the pill,” I stammer, shaking my head. “I’m pretty good at remembering to take it. I don’t even know the last time I forgot one.”
Closing the toilet lid, I sink onto it, shifting my mind to reverse for the date of my last period.
That knot pulls taut when it hits me I should have started two weeks ago.
I’ve been so busy with the new mural project, I completely failed to notice it’s late.
Not once has it crossed my mind. My heartbeat quickens behind my ribcage.
“The pill isn’t one hundred percent. All kinds of things can fuck with birth control. Antidepressant, antibiotics, stress…probably more I don’t know about.”
My eyes snap to hers. “How do you know all this?”
“I told you, my mom’s a gynecologist. She preached safe sex to my sister and me the minute we got our periods. We listened to lectures all the time on how many teen pregnancies she sees a week.”
I drop my head to my hands, my thoughts going straight to the round of antibiotics I took during the week of graduation.
“Clearly, you did not endure the talk with your grandparents, and it shows.”
“Desiree, we didn’t discuss things like that in my house. My grandparents are amazing, but they’re…old fashioned. I had to learn things from my friends.”
“Have you been with anyone lately?” Desiree asks softly.
Wordlessly, I nod. Yes, I have absolutely been with someone.
I picture hazel eyes that made me feel beautiful, cherished.
Things no one has ever made me feel. Eyes that greet me every night in my dreams. An image of the note he left comes to mind, and a sheen of tears prick my eyes when I remember the smudged phone number.
Pressing a hand to my heart, I try to hold myself together.
Twenty minutes later, Desiree has returned from the store and we’re sitting cross-legged on the bathroom floor. Her phone timer counts down the seconds, two pregnancy tests resting on the edge of the sink, slowly deciding my fate.
Beep, beep, beep.
The timer on the phone goes off and I stand on wobbly legs. My heart’s a drumbeat in my ears. Counting to ten, I force my eyes down.
Two pink lines. My eyes slide to the other test to see matching two matching lines.
I feel it in my bones, like the universe folds in on itself, a sudden wrinkle in its fabric that steals the breath straight from my lungs.