Chapter 45 Anna
ANNA
I was finally finished with my book. I sat at my desk, staring at the final draft of my superhero story. It was the first thing I’d written in years that felt like it had any real heart. The first thing since the story I wrote about my mother in college.
But the ending of this story, in which the heroine finds strength in admitting her fears, left me uneasy.
How could I write about bravery when I couldn’t even summon enough courage to send this out?
With a sigh, I closed my laptop, telling myself it wasn’t ready. After one-hundred rejections, maybe it was time to give up. I was tired of chasing after dreams that only ended in disappointment.
Luke had called every night since he left. His world now felt galaxies away from mine, and he always seemed so busy.
The sound of my phone jolted me from my thoughts. His name lit up the screen.
“Anna.” His voice was warm and familiar, and for a second, it felt like no time had passed.
“Hey,” I said, forcing a casual tone. “You’re calling early. What’s the occasion?”
He chuckled. “I got a break. They’re resetting a scene for the fifth time because the sun isn’t cooperating. But hey, it gives me time to call my favorite person.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere. If you keep this up, I might even let you buy me dinner the next time you’re in town.”
“Deal. So, how’s your story going?”
“I just finished it, actually,” I admitted.
A muffled voice in the background cut me off. “Luke, we need you on set in two.”
“One second,” he shouted back, his voice straining as he returned to me. “Sorry, what were you saying?”
I hesitated. “I thought of the best plot twist, and I—”
“Luke, wardrobe needs you for adjustments,” another voice shouted.
He groaned. “Seriously? Sorry, Anna, go ahead.”
“It’s fine,” I said, trying to hide my frustration. “You’re busy.”
“No, no, I want to hear this,” he insisted. “Tell me.”
“I left bread crumbs all throughout—”
“Luke, are you ready to run it again?” a third voice cut in.
I heard him fumbling with something on the other end.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, his voice rushed, the warmth edged out by exhaustion. “I’m so sorry. But I want to hear about it next time, okay? I mean it.”
I smiled faintly, even if something in me wilted a little. “Yeah. Of course.”
There was a pause, like he didn’t want to hang up either but didn’t have a choice.
“Hey,” he added, softer now, “I’m happy we talked. I miss you.”
My heart clenched. “I miss you, too.”
There was a long pause. “So…any chance you’ve changed your mind about moving out here? The weather’s beautiful, and we’d get to see each other more.”
My breath caught. I couldn’t believe that he was bringing this up. I was a bit annoyed because I’d given him my answer numerous times, and it was always the same.
I just couldn’t, and I don’t know why he wouldn’t take no for an answer. I mean, everything inside me wanted to say yes. But fear tucked my words tight. “Luke, I can’t.”
He paused, and I wondered what was going through his mind. Was he annoyed at me? I could practically feel it through the miles that separated us. But when he finally spoke, his words were calm, “Gotcha. No worries. You take care, okay?”
I whispered, “You too.”
Click. The call ended, and I was enveloped in silence. I stared at my phone, the emptiness settling like cold water in my chest.
The next night was the first when he didn’t call. All I got was a brief text: Love you! Miss you!
“Have you heard from him?” Marie Antoinette’s voice cut through the clatter of the bar the next night as she slid a tray of glasses onto the counter.
“Yes,” I said, wiping down the counter with more force than necessary. “He’s fine. Busy.”
“Uh-huh. And is that why you’re reorganizing the liquor cabinet by color? Because he’s fine?”
I paused, glancing at the neat rows of bottles I’d just arranged by label gradient. “It was bothering me.”
“And the coasters?” she asked, gesturing to the perfectly aligned stack I’d been straightening earlier.
“They were uneven,” I mumbled, going back to scrubbing.
She sighed, tapping her perfectly manicured nails on the counter. “Anna, you’re stress-cleaning.”
“I’m not stress-cleaning.”
“Step away from the sponge. You’re practically polishing the wood off this bar. What’s really going on?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly. “I’m just keeping busy. Like Luke.”
“Mm-hmm.” She was clearly unconvinced, but too polite to press the matter further. “Well, if you run out of things to rearrange, I’ve got some receipts you can alphabetize.”
I shot her a glare, but her smirk softened it.
“I mean it,” she added, her tone kind this time. “Whatever’s bugging you, it’s okay to admit it, you know.”
But I wasn’t ready to say it out loud. I didn’t want to voice the fear that Luke and I were drifting apart. Not yet.
Later, alone in my apartment, I opened my laptop again and stared at the story. The words blurred on the screen, their meaning hollow now, like something vital had been drained from them.
This is what I got for letting my guard down. I should’ve known better. I’d convinced myself that things could be different, that I could let someone in and not end up hurt.
But I was wrong.
Tears pricked the corners of my eyes, and I blinked them back. Superheroes don’t cry, and I didn’t have time to feel sorry for myself. Instead, I saved the draft, closed the laptop, and told myself I’d feel better tomorrow.