Chapter 15
Idrive back, stopping on my way out of Charleston to get gas and then to pick up takeout once I make it back to Columbia.
I grab the takeout and my suitcase from the car, leaving the things I brought from Ethan’s bedroom and condo for another time.
Walking into the condo I share with Liv; she isn’t home yet.
As part of my graduation gift from college and law school, my parents gave me a nice down payment on this place.
Liv and I split the mortgage and share a small two-bedroom, one-bathroom condo.
Our styles clash a bit, so our decor is eclectic.
I like calming, neutral colors, and Liv loves bright colors that stand out.
We have a bright orange couch that looks like it belongs in the 1970s and a sleek, modern, black coffee table in front of it. Liv has bright green and orange coffee mugs she uses every day, while I prefer simple white dishes. Somehow, it all works.
I quickly message my parents to let them know I made it safely, and then send a text to Sam.
Hey. I just wanted to let you know I made it back to Columbia.
Thanks for letting me know.
I'm really glad I got to see you.
Me too.
Hopefully you can take a break over Thanksgiving.
Eager to see me again?
Is he flirting with me? God, I desperately want that to be the case. Not knowing, I decide to play it neutral.
Not eager, just want to make sure you see your dad more.
I'll do my best, Kitty Kat.
Why does his use of my nickname send shivers down my spine? A grin spreads across my face thinking about Sam.
I shoot Liv a message letting her know I’m home.
After eating dinner, I decide to unload the rest of the things from my car. It takes me two trips, and by the time I'm finished unpacking my suitcase, I hear Liv enter the condo.
"Hey girl," Liv shouts from the living room. "Did you already eat?"
“Yeah, I got Indian takeout. There’s some left in the fridge.”
I make my way into the kitchen and pull one of my favorite bottles of wine out of the fridge, which is covered in takeout menus—neither Liv or I cook very often—grab two glasses, and the corker before sitting down.
“So, tell me about lunch with Sam.”
I tell her everything, including that we promised to stay in touch more often.
“And how do you feel about all of this?” She asks, and I know she's just trying to open me up and help me process everything.
This is a little game we play when we know the other is struggling with things. We ask questions about feelings and how we want to handle things rather than giving opinions. It’s extremely helpful and extremely annoying.
I take a deep breath. “Honestly? He said we could be friends.” I wrinkle my nose. “That word feels wrong. I don’t want to be his friend—I’ve never wanted to be just friends with Sam.”
“So, what are you going to do about that?”
“What is there to do about it? He lives in Chicago. I live in Columbia. I’m not interested in a long-distance relationship. But more than that, how would we even truly get to know each other again when we would only see each other a couple of times a year?”
“Do you think you could rebuild your relationship with him by texting and calling regularly?”
“Maybe. I think it depends. All I know is that I don’t want to lose him again. Even if it means we’re just friends. A lot has happened between us. There’s a lot that we still have to talk about and work through. It’s gonna take some time.”
“It will take some time, but trust me, babe, it’ll be worth it.” Liv sighs and takes a sip of her wine, “I don’t want to work tomorrow. I have this monster of a client that wants white everything in her entire house.” She sticks out her tongue in mock disgust. “Fucking boring.”
“Oh, what a terrible world you have to live in right now,” I laugh out. It feels good to laugh when everything feels so heavy.
“Whatever, you know what I mean. My talent is being squandered on white pillows with white flowers embroidered on them.” She sips on her wine.
“Not everyone wants an orange couch like you, babe.”
“It’s tragic, isn’t it?”
“The couch? Yes.”
Liv sticks her tongue out at me before standing up and putting her dirty dishes into the dishwasher. We both have early mornings so we say goodnight and make our way to our separate rooms.
As I lie in bed that night, my only thoughts are of Sam.
His gentleness with me over the last few days.
The way he took hold of my hand with ease, like we’ve been holding hands forever.
The way his hand felt in mine. The gnawing absence I feel without him.
I finally drift to sleep thinking about his small kisses on my forehead or my cheek.
***
Ispend the next couple of days preparing for my hearing on Thursday and catching up on things my office couldn’t get to while I was out.
I wish I could have called Ethan a few times.
Mostly just to have him talk me up about this hearing, or to just listen to me practice and give me feedback.
My heart breaks a little more each time I reach for the phone to call him.
I try to shove Sam out of my thoughts. I know I promised we would talk, and we will. I just can’t wrap my head around everything yet.
Thursday morning, I wake to a text from Sam.
Good luck with your hearing this morning! Call me later and tell me about it.
I can't believe he remembered.
Thanks, Sam. It's a pretty routine hearing and I'm expecting it to go well.
I can call around 6 if you aren't busy then?
I'll be impatiently waiting until then.
His response gives me butterflies, but I quickly push those feelings aside because I have to focus on my hearing today. I wasn’t lying. It is pretty routine. But I’m still a relatively new attorney, and speaking in front of a judge still makes me sweaty.
I practice what I’m going to say in front of a mirror in my bedroom several times, and a few more times in the car as I drive to work. I don’t know if this helps, but it helps calm my nerves, even if I still feel like I’m going to drench my suit in sweat when it's my turn to speak.
***
Igot through my hearing and wrap up a few things when my mind starts drifting back to Sam. Glancing at the clock, I see it's 5:30 p.m. My stomach is in knots— I’ve got 30 minutes left. Will it be weird or awkward?
By the time I get home and change my clothes, it’s already 6:00 p.m. I’m talking myself into picking up the phone and calling Sam, but my nerves have my stomach in knots.
In a moment of strength, or maybe weakness, I pick up my phone, put in my earbuds, and click on his number. He answers on the second ring.
“Hey, how was your day?” He sounds happy to hear from me.
“It was good. Long. But good.”
“Did you eat dinner yet?”
“No, Mother Hen. I haven’t eaten yet.” I laugh as I walk into the kitchen and grab a bottle of wine and a glass. “I lost track of time and just got home.”
“Tell me about your hearing while you get some dinner.”
Heating my leftovers and eating, I tell Sam about my hearing and my job overall. He asks thoughtful questions, which tells me he’s listening and engaged in the conversation. I don't feel like I'm boring him.
“Tell me about your day, Sam. Did you go hiking with your dad?”
“As a matter of fact, we did go hiking. We went along part of the Palmetto trail at Francis Marion and then stopped to grab some cheese biscuits for dinner.”
“Oh my God. What I wouldn’t give for some cheese biscuits. I can practically taste them!”
“Well, I happen to know where you can get some. Might require you to see a certain handsome older man…”
“Oh, I would definitely visit your dad while I grab some biscuits,” I tease Sam.
“I didn’t realize you were into much older men, Kat. When did that happen?”
I can’t contain my laugh. “Just to be clear, I am not into your dad.”
“What a relief.” He chuckles. “So, tell me, do you have any plans for Halloween? A party you go to?”
“No parties. Usually, we have a few friends over, order pizza, and watch scary movies. We have a few trick-or-treaters, so we hand out candy too. What about you? Do you have any plans?
“A friend of mine throws a party every year. So, I’ll probably go to that.”
“Like a costume party? Are you dressing up, Sammy?”
“Yes, a costume party,” it comes out more like a growl, “and yes, I’ll dress up.”
“Wait. Samuel Harris in a costume? I have to see this!”
“Not a chance, Kitty Kat.”
“Pleeeeaase, Sammy!”
“Begging won’t help here.”
“Ugh, you’re no fun,” I grumble. “Fine. At least tell me what you’re going to wear.”
“I’m not sure I want to tell you that.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because I know you will use it against me at a later, very inconvenient time for me.”
“I would never. I’m not that horrid! Please tell me.”
“I’m gonna regret this,” he mutters under his breath. “We’re all going as versions of Britney Spears.”
“Oh my God,” I laugh out.
“I fucking knew I shouldn’t tell you.” I can practically see him run his hand through his hair.
“So. Um. What do I have to do to know which Britney you’re going as?” I say it sweetly, knowing I am very unlikely to be told.
“Yeah. That part I’m keeping to myself.”
“There isn’t anything I could do for this tiny little tidbit of information.”
“When you ask it like that…” His response causes heat to pool in my core.
Using my most seductive voice, “What can I do?”
“Fuck,” he groans, and I think I might have him now.
Continuing the seduction, “Please?”
He clears his throat before responding, “The things I have thought about that wicked mouth of yours doing.” His tone abruptly changes. "But I’m still not telling you. Good effort though.”
“Damn it.”
He laughs at my response. “You’re such a menace.”
“Don’t think I’m not going to try to wear you down.”
“Oh, I look forward to your efforts, Kitty Kat.”
The problem with this little game I started is that it’s left me feeling hot, bothered, and wondering why Sam has been thinking about my mouth.
We keep chatting and before I know it, it’s 10:00 p.m. “Shit, I don’t know how it got so late.”
“I guess you need to get to bed?”
“A girl needs her beauty sleep.”
“You will always be beautiful, sleep or not.” His words cause butterflies in my stomach, and I feel the flush rise on my cheeks.
He thinks I’m beautiful? “Thanks.”
“I’m glad you called tonight. It was nice talking with you.”
“You too. Let’s do it again soon?”
“Definitely. Goodnight, beautiful.” My heart stutters at his compliment.
“Goodnight, Sammy.” It feels right to use the nickname I gave him when we were kids.
***
The next morning, I wake to a message from Sam again. A smile forces across my face.
Good morning, beautiful!
I'm on my way back to Chicago. I hope you have a great day!
Checking the clock, he’s probably already on the plane. I type out a quick message.
Have a safe flight. Please let me know when you get home.
Sam finally messaged me a little after noon.
Now who's the mother hen?
I just made it home. Can I call you tonight?
6?
Can't wait!
***
The next few weeks pass quickly. Sam and I continue to text and call each other daily. We talk about everything: how work was going, anything that happened that was out of the ordinary, and plans we have for the weekend.
Everything except the topics I most need to know: what happened in Seattle and why he didn’t marry Claire. I have so many questions, but I don’t think a phone call or text message is the right way to get answers.