History Doesn't Repeat Itself

Chapter 3

 It had been a few weeks since I last saw Gale. I've been getting calls from Willow, checking up on me. Telling me about random things she forced her husband to let her buy. And she didn't even have to marry Dan for the money, he started off by investing in stocks which—luckily—skyrocketed. Essentially maxing out their bank accounts.

I brought a teapot and some cups to the table and sat next to my mom on the couch while she was playing with Oofy's flopped ear.

"So tell me what you know about Gale." She says as she pours tea into our cups, giving me a curious look. "The man that you talked about earlier."

"He's a friend, ma." I pause, feeling the need to spill what I've been feeling for the past week. "Well. . . he used to be, at least," I say, hugging the pillow tighter.

He used to be. God that had sounded much worse when I said it out loud.

After that evening, I kept thinking about how I seriously hurt him. That sight of him whimpering in pain just broke my heart. I didn't intend on hurting him, but I still did. Now I'm unsure if he's mad at me or not. And I'm a little saddened by that fact.

"Used to be?" My mother, who was now taking a sip from the tea, says.

I deflate in my seat and, fortunately, mom takes the hint. With a sigh, she lets down the cup and leans back on the sofa. "Has he told you anything that. . . helped?" She says.

I loosen my grip on the pillow and my eyes widen with excitement. If only you knew, ma. "Well, yeah!" I said with a bright smile. "He actually helped me remember some parts of the neighborhood and the city. I remembered some of my days in college—that apartment I lived in before I bought the house. He even told me things about himself that were pretty cool, they didn't really help me remember anything, but it was still fun talking to him about it."

"It seems you've taken interest in him, do you like him?" Mom says, giving me the i-know-what-you're-doing look. 

"I. . . I'm not sure." I say, feeling my smile disappearing and turning into a frown. "I mean, I like him, but. . . it's complicated."

"Well, if you ever need relationship advice, you could always just talk to me, alright?" She says. "Your father gave me some tips on how to spot a douche. From first-hand experience too, because. . . he was one."

A beat passes, and I try to think of Gale and Dave. Night and day, the comparison was. 

With a slight shake of my head, I sigh. Preparing myself, I hug the pillow even tighter. "I hurt him, ma. I don't think our relationship is relationship-y, you know? I'm not even sure if he wants to see me right now. We're not even a thing. It's been a week and I still haven't heard from him. Am I obsessed?" I say, panicking a little bit. "Am I crazy?"

My mom tilts her head to look at me. "Tell me what happened, sweetie." She says.

I hesitate for a moment, thinking if having this conversation would be good for my mental health. For my mother's, too. But more than a week of checking outside my door, walking into the coffee shop, and not seeing Gale had me. . . lonely. He and Willow were the only friends I remembered, and most of the people are too busy to talk to me, Willow included. So not having someone to talk to, not having someone other than my mother or Oofy made me feel alone again, like I had been in that hospital bed when I woke up.

With my chin resting on the pillow on my chest, I open my mouth. "I accidentally grabbed his—I think—broken wrist," I say, feeling the muscles on my mouth contort into an even deeper crestfallen expression. "God, I feel awful, and I can't even visit him. I never got the chance to tell him how sorry I am." I bury my head into a pillow as I lie in the fetal position next to mom. "He's gonna hate me, ma. I don't want him to hate me." I whisper that last part.