runaway

SIXTEEN | COOKOUT MILKSHAKES

SIXTEEN | COOKOUT MILKSHAKES

The apartment door closes behind him, the four walls harboring her immediately fighting to hide her smile. While he had said "Always," always always ends with a call requesting presence elsewhere, a kiss on a cheek, and the click of a lock. It does not bother her, though, the ending of an always, especially when the chance of his return is more inevitable than anything.

She steps into the kitchen to put the empty coffee mugs into the dishwasher. Just as she loads them, the faint ring of her phone sounds from the nightstand. The amount of people who have the number has grown drastically since her return to the small town life, and while concern manifests in the back of her mind, she can't find it in her to care.

She walks over to collect the device, answering and putting it on speaker without so much of a glance at the name. It does not take her long to figure out the caller, though.

"Hey, bestie! How are you today?" the other line says in a singsong voice.

Jett sighs. "What do you want now, Christine?"

"Why do you always assume I want something? Am I not allowed to call my favorite sis for shits and giggles?"

"Step-sis," Jett corrects. "And, no."

"Jesus, J. You really need to get dicked down. Maybe that will finally knock some kindness into you."

"For the record, I got 'dicked down' a few hours ago," Jett says. "You just annoy me."

Christine's shock is practically audible. "Okay, first, ew," she says. "Second, is he cute? Was he good? Spill all the tea."

Jett laughs. "What do you want, Chris?"

The line falls silent as hesitation with a trace of trepidation fills the speaker. Christine is quite for a moment and another moment until finally she says, "It's about the shipment."

All the laughter previously had quickly drains from her. "What about the shipment?" Jett asks, already fearful of the answer.

Christine sighs, hesitates, then mumbles, "Next Friday."

Jett stares at the wall in disbelief, in horror, more so, at the sound of two little words that mean little to everyone but her.

"What do you mean it won't be ready until next Friday?" she says into the phone, now held loosely in her palm as though soon to tumble to the floor.

"I'm sorry, Jett," Christine says from the other end. "I did everything I could. The jackass doesn't take me seriously no matter how many times I threaten him. There's nothing else I can do."

"You were supposed to have them last week. Last week," Jett says, her voice growing strained, nearly cracking in the end.

"I know. I'm sorry."

Jett hears the remorse in her voice, how she truly regrets the news she must deliver. And yet, no amount of apologies, of remorse, of regret changes the outcome.

"Let me call dad. Maybe he knows someone else or has advice or..." Christine rambles, panic swelling in her words.

"It's fine, Chris," Jett cuts her off.

"I'll try to figure something else out. Just give me a couple days and..."

Cutting her off once again, Jett says, "I said it's fine, Chris."

Christine falls silent. She takes a deep breath before saying, "It's gonna be okay, Jett."

"Whatever, Christine," she says. But, before Christine has a chance to respond, Jett ends the call.