Right Where You Left Me

under better circumstances

I groan in frustration and roll over, my legs tangled in the sheets. Although the sun has set and the sky is a dark blanket of night sprinkled with shattered stars, sleep does not find me. Probably because I drank a cup of coffee after dinner.

I turn on my lamp and blink as light floods my room. Rubbing my eyes, I grab my phone and check the time. 3:02 am.

My stomach growls hungrily and I swing my legs off the bed, slip on my slippers, and head down the stairs to the kitchen for a snack. When I reach the kitchen, I pour myself a bowl of cereal and sit cross legged on the counter, groggily scrolling through my phone.

I spend almost an hour downstairs, on my phone. I contemplate catching a bus right now to the subway station and spending the day downtown. After thinking for a long time, I stumble to my bathroom and click on the light and get ready to go.

I wash my face and put on lotion. I pull on blue jean shorts and a brown tank top. I shoulder my backpack, put on my red shoes, and open the front door to leave.

I turn the lock and open the door. And then I stop in my tracks.

There is a boy standing on my porch, his back turned to me. He's got plaid pajama pants, old dusty converse shoes, and a black hoodie on. A backpack is slung around one of his shoulders.
My eyes flicker to the cigarette dangling from his thin fingers. Then, almost against my will, I look down at his shoes again. Dusty red converse shoes, with a little smiley face drawn on the back.

I drew that smiley face.

I drew that face three years ago, when Nancy surprised us with matching shoes. I still wear mine. I always wear mine. I didn't realize he still wore his.

And when the boy turns around and I see his face and I know for sure that he's Nate, I'm not even surprised.

"Adya." My name rolls off his tongue comfortably, even though he probably hasn't said it in years.

He takes an uncertain step forward, his cigarette on the floor, squashed on the wet cement, forgotten. He takes a breath, then leans back and looks me up and down, his eyes flicking over me quickly. His eyes meet mine, and he quickly looks away. "Fuck, I'd imagined having this conversation under better circumstances," he mutters.

I am too shocked to say anything except "Nate. What the fuck?"

He gives me a sheepish look. "How are you?"

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I say. I am confused, and hurt, and upset, but flooded with rage. "You disappear for three years, and the only thing you can do is ask me how I am? What about a fucking explanation, Nate?"

He sighs and opens his mouth, then closes it. Then opens it again. "I decided it was time to come home."

I raise my brows in disbelief. "What made you change your mind?" My question is half mocking, but deep down I want to know the answer.

Nate blows out a breath. "Plans change, yeah?"
"It's been three years."

"Exactly, Nate," I say. "It's been three fucking years."

"I know, Adya."

"Do you know how worried I was? How many nights I barely slept because I was too busy thinking about you, Nate?"

"I know, Adya."

"Where even were you? Where were you when your grandmother needed you the most? Where were you when I needed you- "

"I don't think you're in a position to ask me those types of things."

The words hit me like a slap in the face. Another reminder of Nate and the way he distanced himself from me; the way he left me. I remember going over our conversations in my head after he left. Was I too clingy? Too annoying?