Chapter 5
Steph
Then
“Hey, you’ve reached Riley! Leave me a message, and I’ll call you back. Probably. Ha!”
Beeeep.
“It’s me. Again. Why won’t you pick up your phone?
Or call me back?! I just— I don’t understand what’s going on.
It’s like … I feel you pulling away. Did I do something wrong?
” I hate how my voice breaks on that last part.
Clearing my throat, I continue with my most recent of a multitude of messages.
“I thought you were coming home this weekend. Even your mom said so when I saw her at the store. Please, Riles. Just call me. I need to know what’s going on. Please.”
Click.
I sigh and fling myself on my bed, fighting the tears that have become all too familiar lately.
When Riley moved away for college at the end of the summer, we swore we’d talk all the time.
He promised he’d be home as many weekends as he could manage between his game schedule, and at first, he’d managed it okay.
September and into October, things seemed to be going well.
I could tell he was stressed, and maybe a little disappointed.
He wasn’t getting much playing time on the court and felt overlooked by his coaches.
But he was determined, hopeful that with time, things would improve.
He made it home three times in the fall before they started playing exhibition games.
November, though … was rough. The basketball season officially started, and he was exhausted every time we spoke.
He’d give me vague accounts of his day, then fall asleep listening to me prattle on about mine.
He continued to become more disheartened by his performance at practice and his coaches’ complete disregard for him on game days.
Despite seemingly being prepared for the higher stakes and competitiveness of college basketball, he wasn’t used to riding the bench.
Even as a freshman in high school, Riley had gotten significant playing time.
Reading between the lines, it seemed like he was struggling with his classes a bit, too.
Riley’s a smart guy, but he’s never been a straight-A student.
That’s how we met, after all. What other reason would one of the most gorgeous, most charming, and popular guys in school—captain of the basketball team, no less—have to interact with me?
Shy Stephanie Miller. Oh sure, I have friends.
I’m not a weird loner, or anything, but before I was asked to tutor him, I was a lot nearer the bottom of the Llyn Lakes high social hierarchy.
Things have changed, somewhat, in the two years we’ve been together, though.
I’m still Riley Walker’s ‘quiet’ girlfriend, but …
people know me now, and maybe even respect me.
Ugh, that’s pathetic, isn’t it? That I needed to be on a popular guy’s arm to gain any respect?
Never mind that I’m an excellent student and participate in multiple extracurricular activities.
But I guess the Earth Warriors and the political science club don’t garner attention like sports and cheerleading do.
And, well, athletic I am not.
So, yeah. I needed to be linked to a popular boy to elevate my social status.
Though I guess that says more about the world we live in than about me.
I mean, it’s not why I’m with him, or anything.
Sure, it’s been a nice little bonus, but honestly?
Having his attention, his affection? There’s nothing better.
That day in the library when I realized Riley Walker was looking at me the same way I looked at him?
Well, it was— It was shocking, is what it was.
Unbelievable. But, also, like, a jolt of confidence.
One I desperately needed. Being with Riley has given me strength and the courage to be myself unapologetically.
I even kind of like myself, most of the time. Because he likes me.
Or he did.
I don’t really know anymore.
He says he loves me. Said. But he said a lot of things before he left.
I haven’t heard the L-word from him in a long time. Haven’t heard much from him at all.
Christmas rolled around, and he was only home for three days.
Three! School was closed for two whole weeks, and I’d been so looking forward to seeing him.
I thought, if we could spend some uninterrupted time alone, I might finally be able to get him to talk to me.
We could reconnect—not just emotionally, but physically, too.
I missed him. I missed his arms around me, comforting me.
Loving me. But instead, he chose to stay back in the dorms right up until Christmas Eve, then left only a few days later.
I spent New Year’s alone watching movies in my basement.
He said it was because he needed to play catch-up for some of his classes, but that didn’t make much sense because he was starting a new semester in January.
He said some of the guys were going to be back early after the holidays to put in extra time in the gym, and he didn’t want to miss out, get left behind …
and I guess I could understand that. But it hurt.
A lot. He was pulling away, and I didn’t know what to do about it.
So now, here we are in February, and I’m begging him for a response. An email, a callback. Anything. I’m begging him for scraps of what he used to give me so freely. I’m desperate for his attention, and it feels like he barely even gives me a second thought anymore.
I feel pathetic leaving all of these messages for my absentee boyfriend.
There’s that word again: pathetic.
Seems to be a real theme with me lately.
I just don’t understand.
How did we get here?
“Steph!” my mom calls up the stairs. “There’s someone at the door for you!”
Oh, my God.
I sit up from where I’d been slumped over my laptop.
Is he here?
Shoving my rolling chair away from my desk, I stumble, nearly tripping on my pajama pants as I attempt to get up.
Hope and relief flood my system as I dash into my bathroom to check my face and fix my hair.
I haven’t heard from Riley all week, with only a brief email the one before.
I thought for sure he’d forgotten about today.
But he didn’t.
He's here.
Running a brush quickly through my hair, I frown down at my ratty tank top. There’s a bleach stain on one boob, and the hem is frayed, hence its relegation to loungewear. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone, let alone him, tonight.
“Steph!” my mom shouts again.
“Coming!”
I dart into the hallway and thunder down the stairs, taking them way too quickly in my haste.
He’s here.
He’s here.
I’m so excited that I catch my hip roughly on the banister as I hit the landing. It’ll be a bruise tomorrow, but I barely feel it as I swing around the corner . . . and come to an abrupt halt.
Because my mom is pressing the front door closed.
And the entry is empty.
In her hands, she holds a bouquet of roses. She glances up at me, where I’ve frozen one stair below the landing.
“Look at this, sweetie. Isn’t that sweet of Riley?” she asks.
All I can do is nod, avoiding her eyes as I take the last few steps to join her on the main floor. She passes the flowers into my arms and pats me on the cheek before returning to the family room, where the TV blares. Sounds like my dad’s watching basketball, ironically.
I gaze down at the arrangement. Twelve long-stem roses and a scattering of baby’s breath. They’re lovely, but also … cliché.
There’s a note tucked into the cellophane wrap.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Sunshine.
Xo, R
That’s … it?
I mean, I guess I should be glad he remembered what day it is, but …
this all feels kind of like an afterthought.
Last year, Riley took me out to a national park where they’d created a skating rink through the woods.
The trail was lit up with little white twinkle lights.
We had hot chocolate and then cuddled up by a bonfire before stopping at our spot on the ridge on the way home to stargaze.
I make my way slowly into the kitchen and grab a vase for the flowers from the cabinet beside the sink.
Climbing the stairs again, I thumb the delicate necklace at my throat.
The one he’d given me that night under the stars.
The small sun charm is warm in my hand. I glide my thumb across the back of the metal, feeling for the ridges of our engraved initials.
Pain twists in my chest.
X. O.
Hugs and kisses. That’s what I got this year.
He couldn’t even be bothered to write, Love Riley.
I pick up my phone, knowing already that it’s pointless, and punch in the numbers I know by heart.
“Hey, you’ve reached Riley! Leave me a message and …”
Click.
“Alright! Everyone grab some gloves and a garbage bag, and let’s get to work! If you find anything you think might be worth saving—beach toys, things like that—bring them over here, and we’ll box them up for donation. Any questions?”
I glance around at my fellow Earth Warriors gathered with me on the beach south of the marina. Everyone’s shaking their heads.
“Okay then!” I clap my hands, indicating we should get started with our clean-up.
Every spring, we arrange to comb the public beaches around Llyn Lakes, picking up garbage and other debris that washes up with the ice melt.
Sometimes we get other volunteers from around school and town, but the turnout this year has been less than stellar.
Only a handful of dedicated environmental club members are here to do the dirty work with me.
Sucking in a deep breath of damp air, I cast my eyes over the wet, trash-ridden sand, then out over the dark lake to the grey sky above it. It’s been a cold and dreary spring.
Depressing. Much like my mood.
I expel the breath slowly, then take another, holding it in my lungs as I fight the emotions that roll over and through me.
Riley and I are done.