Chapter Four Something Wrong? Call Anh Phoong! #3
“Kaitlyn.” The way Owen says her name is sharp, cutting through the cold night air. “Say what you want to say, please.”
“I thought you would’ve fought harder. That’s all.”
That’s all. Such biting words said with such sincerity. Because she really does mean them.
“I’m not saying long distance was the answer, or that you had to give up more than he did, but to me at least it didn’t seem like you guys tried all that hard to find a new way forward.”
She’s correct. There was no follow-up conversation after the call ended, despite Jacob’s efforts when he came back to the
city to pack up his things and break the lease on the apartment. He and Owen had barely said a word to each other, silently
hovering around the home they’d built together as they packed up their things.
Maybe he did give up.
“How do you feel?” she asks.
“I asked you for the truth, and you gave it to me.”
Kaitlyn laughs, more in an effort to break the tension than anything else. “I feel like I gave you a bit more than you asked
for.”
Something about the absurdity of the night hits Owen, and he smiles at her. “Probably.”
She’d given him the truth. He’d never asked Kaitlyn how she felt about the breakup, not with the way she was caught between
the two people involved. It hadn’t seemed fair, and as time passed and wounds began to scar over, Owen started to question
what bringing up her feelings might even accomplish other than making him feel worse than he already did.
“We still talked about you,” Kaitlyn says as they continue their walk, Owen ever conscious of the fact that he has to put
one foot in front of the other.
“What did he say?”
“He’d always ask how you were, if you were looking okay, were you eating, sleeping well. Were you keeping up with your shots.”
“What did you tell him?”
Kaitlyn hesitates. “I didn’t lie.”
But what did she omit? Does Jacob know about the long showers Owen would take just so Kaitlyn and Abigail wouldn’t hear him crying?
What about all the baking that followed, how Abigail had to start taking Owen’s goodies to work just to get them out of the house?
Did she tell him about the time she caught Owen looking at the photos of Jacob in his camera roll as Fitzwilliam sat on his chest, purring in his best attempt to alleviate Owen’s anxiety?
“I won’t be mad, if you decide that you can’t go,” she tells him. “But I think it’d be good for you. For the both of you.”
If he goes on this trip, that’s it. For an entire week, there’s nowhere to run and few places to hide. They might just maintain
their distance, keep up the civility act, if just for their friends. Kaitlyn could be wrong. Being forced together like this
could bring out the worst in them, stir up the resentment that’s had plenty of time to settle in Owen’s heart. They could
come back to San Francisco hating each other, never wanting to see the other person again. Not just exes, but worse.
But what if?
“I’m going,” he says boldly as they approach the apartment again.
“Really?” Kaitlyn’s eyebrows shoot up in earnest surprise.
Owen nods, forcing a smile that could probably pass for a grimace.
She takes Owen’s hand, tugging on him gently. “You’re not just doing this for me, right? This trip is for all of us. I want everyone to have a good time.”
“I’ll be okay, really, Kait.” He hates how cold his voice sounds, even to his own ears.
“Okay, well . . . yay!” She beams, still holding on to Owen’s hand as they climb the steps to the apartment. “Oh my God, we’re all going to have such a good time. It’s going to be amazing! Have you looked at the videos I sent you on Instagram?”
“Not yet,” Owen tells her, voice quiet as he listens to Kaitlyn talk about how they chose the trip, the things they’ve already
booked for everyone to do during their excursion days. They enjoy the rest of their pastries on the stoop, Kaitlyn eventually
admitting defeat against the cold and heading inside. Owen tells her that he’ll be in shortly.
Maybe he and Jacob could’ve fought harder. Owen could’ve offered more FaceTimes, could’ve been braver and gotten over his
fear of being somewhere different. They could’ve traded weeks, going back and forth between San Francisco and wherever Jacob
was at the time. There would’ve been a newfound desperation to the time they’d have had together, a need to take advantage
of every free second to make sure it was spent to its fullest. And then one of them would’ve gone home, the isolation hitting
them maybe not right away, but probably on the long, lonely flight back home.
Never getting to hold each other for as long as they wanted to.
That’s not the relationship that Owen signed up for.
Maybe that’s selfish. But it’s how Owen feels. And that gets to mean something.
But could they find some sort of common ground, some forced geniality just to make life easier? That almost sounds emptier
than what little they have now.
Owen sits there on the stoop, staring at the billboard of Anh Phoong staring at him from across the street as he lights another
pre-roll. “Yeah, Anh, I’d say something’s wrong,” he tells her, his voice quiet in the cold, empty night.