After a year and a half of trying to move on from the what-ifs, the tides have pulled Alexandra Rivera and Zachariah Kim back together again.
*****
In the h...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
A week.
It takes a week to call her. I try not to beat myself up about this because it's been two years since we promised to be honest about him; at least this time it doesn't take as long.
I sit on my couch while I wait for her to pick up my call, my left hand absentmindedly rubbing at the cut she'd accidentally made into the fabric one time. A thread breaks loose at the exact moment she answers the phone.
"Hey," Emmie answers.
It takes me a moment to respond because, even though I'm the one that called her, all sense of understanding about what I'm trying to tell her rushes out of me like hot air.
"Alex?" she repeats a few times.
"Zach came over the other night."
I listen for a sign that she's going to react badly, a catch in her breath or an angry puff of air. Even as we're trying to heal together, I cling to the idea that she still resents me, still hates me for falling for a guy she had first, a guy she probably would have tried to reconcile with if it wasn't for me.
None of that comes.
Emmie calmly replies, "Oh?"
The story sounds ridiculous the more I say it out loud. "I've been having a problem with my sink and, well, you know how shitty our landlord is."
"Yeah, the one that threatened to tow my car if I kept parking in that one spot because I turned him down."
"My dad was bugging me about calling someone to fix it. And because he hates me, apparently, he called Zach and asked him to come over."
Emmie inhales sharply. "Yikes."
"That wasn't even the worst part. Because I'm a real fucking doorknob here, I couldn't just leave things like that. I couldn't just tell him to go fix the sink and leave. No. I had to ask why he's back here like the complete jackass that I am."
I ramble on some more using choice words about myself and Emmie listens patiently; the only indication she's still there is the gentle hum of her breath and the clock continuing to tick.
When I finally stop, I'm left breathless by the whole exercise. Releasing a whole week's worth of pent-up emotions is exhausting.
"To be fair, that is a valid question."
I close my eyes because I know there's some truth to that or else I wouldn't have asked him it in the first place, but validity matters little when it leads to an instant explosion of accusations.
"What was your first reaction when he showed up?"
"I said what the fuck?"
Emmie hums.
I can't tell if this is uncharacteristically different or just this new version of her. "Please say something," I beg.
"I'm not sure what you want me to say," she answers truthfully. "I feel like there's a question I should be waiting for."
