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Numbers: 27 Days Before

Chapter Two: Numbers: 27 Days Before

 

I woke up the next morning, and it was weird. With no proof that it actually happened, and that it wasn’t just a good dream. Which me not even remembering talking to parents when I came home, much less walking upstairs to my bedroom didn’t help. I got up and went to put on my jeans, but then realized I already had them on. Weird I thought. So I walked down stairs to go get breakfast. 

 

“Hey Mom,” I said somewhere between cheery and sleepy, as I reached into the cabinet to get the cereal.

 

“Good morning honey,” she answers,  “Who was that boy who brought you home?” 

 

So it was real. He was real. 

 

“Umm, his name’s Liam I met him at the concert,” 

 

“Well he seams sweet,” she replied.

 

“When did you meet him?” I asked. It was feasible not remembering talking to my parents. They could have been already asleep, or I was just too tired to remember, but I think I would remember introducing them to a guy. Especially if that guy was Liam.

 

“When he brought you in last night,” she answered.

 

“What do you mean?” Brought me in? Brought me in? What the heck was that supposed to mean?

 

“Well when he gave you a ride home, you fell asleep in his car, so when I opened the door expecting to find you saying your forgot your key again, I found a tall brown haired boy carrying you bridal-style,” 

 

“Okay,” I answered, not sure exactly what to say.

 

“He was sweet, finish your breakfast and then call him,”

 

Well how in the world was I supposed to call him? I didn’t even know his last name, much less his phone number. And that’s when something I least expected happened. My mother was sliding a folded piece of paper over to me with a knowing smile.  I unfolded it and it was a phone number, probably his number, in my mother’s handwriting.

 

“I got it for you before you left,”

 

“Thanks,” I said, I was a little weirded out by the whole thing, mothers weren’t supposed to encourage this. Shouldn’t she be scolding me for getting in the car of someone I’d just met? She turned and walked up the kitchen stairs to her bedroom.

 

I finished making my cereal, and then sat at the counter staring at the 10 digits written in my mother’s perfect handwriting. I went through something in my mind that I thought only happened in cliché romantic comedies and books: Should I call him now? Or wait till later? Is it too early? Wait what time is it? I looked over at the clock. Okay, so it was 2 o’clock in the afternoon, so it definitely wasn’t too early, but when I call what do I say?  I sat there wondering what to do next. Do I call him now and just wing it or do I wait till later?  I got up to bring my bowl to the sink, as my mother came down stairs and looked at with a look on her face that clearly said “Why aren’t you calling him?”  So I walked over to the phone, picked it up and dialed the number. I waited, and he picked up on the last ring.