OVERLOOKED ㅤkotlc

076

My Imparter rings later that day.

It rings as my hands are covered in soap suds; as the faucet runs; as I scrub the evidence of our dinner off our dishes. Mom glances at the screen before I can, then exhales a breath and tosses me a towel.

"It's Rosaleen," she says, and takes the plate from my hands. "I can finish up, if you'd like."

Her offer sounds more like a command, but I just smile, hoping she can sense my gratitude. Pretty sure my smile looks like a constipated llama, though, so I guess all she really picks up is my fear. I murmur a thank you and wipe my hands, picking up the Imparter a second before the third ring.

"Hello?" I exit the kitchen, sitting on the couch in the living room. Thankfully, the triplets are upstairs, occupied with their homework. Despite their character development during my absence, their nosiness is ever-present.

There's a silence on her end. The screen shows only her ceiling; I guess mine's the same.

"Are you free?" Her voice betrays nothing. Her blank ceiling doesn't exactly help, either.

"Well..." I am free, in technicality, but privately hearing her voice summons an unwelcome surge of memories. She doesn't hate me. She doesn't.

But again, she has every reason to.

Doubts resurface: who am I, to let myself back into her life? Especially after all the ways I've hurt her? But then there's the possibility that she's calling to say goodbye. And I can't tell which is worse.

The silence drags on too long. "Hello?" Rosaleen says.

I clear my throat. "Sorry," I say, and my voice still shakes.

A speculative silence. "Okay," she exhales. "Alright. Look—I feel ready to talk about everything now. And... I understand if you don't want to."

Out of all the things she could've said, I wasn't expecting her to hint that I harbored hatred. In this situation, who is there to hate but myself? Stupidly, I ask, "What do you mean?"

"Like, I understand this isn't the first time I've disappeared with no contact. It's not..." She pauses. "It doesn't matter what we are, because we're friends first, and by doing what I repeatedly do, it makes me a bad friend."

I bite my lip. Again, silence stretches and stretches until I speak again and it snaps—I begin, "It's understandable—"

She interrupts, "I should communicate, though. I have trouble doing that. I'm really sor—"

"Do you wanna come over to talk?"

The abruptness of my invitation surprises her, I think, because she lets out a breathless laugh, as if caught off-guard. To fill the silence on my end of the call, I laugh, too. It feels really good to laugh together again.

My throat constricts—what if it's the last time?

Rosaleen takes a deep breath, a sound that I don't think she intends the Imparter to pick up. But I hear it. Our mutual anxiety is strangely comforting. Even if she doesn't "love" me, at least it's proof she cares.

"Alright," she says. "I'll come over. Rimeshire, right? And I should dress warm, I assume?"

My smile is sad. She doesn't see it, anyway. "Yeah. We don't want you getting frostbite."

"That'd be unfortunate, huh." There's another pause. Our relationship feels so tenuous that, if we were to hang up, I'd be scared that her, and her empty ceiling, would disappear forever. "Well then—"

"Do you wanna stay on call?" Another pause. This hail has a lot of those. "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I meant like... I don't know. Sorry. I can, like... I don't know, do you wanna hang up now?"

"No, it's... fine. You can tell me if I'm dressing warm enough, you know."

I suddenly feel like crying. "Yeah. Yeah. This is a very strategic hail. Your frostbite—or lack of it, I guess—hangs on this hail."

She doesn't laugh, but when she speaks next, I can hear a smile in her voice. It's progress. "Of course."

Guilt encompasses me. "Also, I know it's better to talk about this in-person, but I just want to clarify that I really didn't mean... like, anything. I didn't mean what I said to you. And I didn't mean to tell Ruy about our mission."

She's quiet. Finally: "Would I have to wear fuzzy socks?"

I press my lips together, swallowing hard. My smile is tentative. "I'd recommend it. And waterproof boots. If you don't have any, you can borrow Bex's."

"Hm. What size is she?"

"Around a six."

"Oh. I'm an eight, I might not fit."

"That's okay! My mom's an eight, so you can always borrow hers."

"First blankets, now boots. Your mom's a lifesaver." I hear rustling, and I glimpse a jacket tugged across the screen. "And about what you said—I guess I figured that out eventually. But it means a lot to hear out loud. So. Thank you."

Now, I laugh. "Why're you thanking me? God, Rosaleen, I have so many sorry's to say to you, it's not even funny."

She laughs, too. Our laughter feels stilted, and I can't even remember what it'd sounded like before. "I have a few sorry's, too."

"I guess we save them for in-person, huh?"

"Yep."

"It's a bonding experience!"

"Mm." The camera moves, and for a moment, the monotonous landscape of the ceiling is interrupted by an exciting view of a doorframe. "But, you know, also, I wanna say now that I've never intended to cut you off. I'm... not good at regulating grief. I isolate myself. And I know it's unfair to you, and I should've let you know in advance. And I'm so sorry if I've made you overthink, or anything of the sort. And I'm sorry that I didn't communicate with you."

I swallow. "I guess I also realized that? But... yeah, same as you, I guess: it's reassuring to hear out loud. I don't know. I think a part of me never really got closure from the first time."

"I... think I could tell, at times." I can tell she winces. "Empath, you know."

I lean my head against the couch. Her Imparter has stopped moving across the house, so, after a hesitation, I ask, "Are you at your Leapmaster?"

"Mhm." Suddenly, the camera pans to reveal her outfit. "Think this is warm enough?"

Surprised, I laugh. "You look like a marshmallow," I say honestly. "It'll work."

I can almost hear her smile. It is such a relief. "That's great. I'll see you?"

I nod, even though she can't see me. "I'll see you."

"Alright. Bye!"

Before I can return the farewell, the Imparter's screen goes black. I stare at my reflection. A tear has wandered onto my cheek, and I wipe it away, laughing softly to myself. Now how did that get there?