Before I settle in to work on the application, I glance back up at the dresser. There’s a fishbowl sitting at its center, containing a purple-scaled betta fish, which shimmers as it drifts at the surface of the water.
I got myself a fish on a whim a couple of weeks ago, thinking it might make my apartment feel less empty. I also figured it might remind me of Archie. This fish looks similar to Swimmy. I haven’t had the stomach to name it yet, mostly because I wish I could ask Archie to do it instead.
I miss him. A lot.
I miss both of them.
I take a deep breath and shake my head to clear it, doing my best to focus on the screen in front of me. Trying to tamp down the hurt so that I can move forward.
* * *
Cole
“Hi! This is Riley Winters. I can’t make it to the phone right now, so please leave a message with your name and number, and—”
Fuck. Her voicemail, again.
My heart clenches, and I almost lower my phone before I think better of it. I listen to the rest of her voicemail message, my chest aching at the sound of her voice, and lean back against the couch cushions with a sigh.
I’ve already gotten this far. There’s always a chance that she’ll change her mind, that she’s been listening to my messages. I might as well add another one.
“—I’ll get back to you as soon as possible! Thanks!”
I’ve listened to Riley’s outgoing message four times now, and each time, it sends a fresh wave of determination over me. I hadn’t realized how much I missed her until I heard her speak.
“Riley, it’s Cole,” I say. “Listen, I know why you’re not answering—I understand. But I really need to talk to you. It’s important. If you hear these messages, please, give me a call back.”
I’m not satisfied with that—I should’ve planned out something better to say, should’ve known that I’d get her voicemail again—but I end the call regardless, setting my phone down on the coffee table.
Fuck.
I let my head drop into my hands. Every time I call and she doesn’t answer, it’s like a new piece of my heart breaks, but I can’t say I’m surprised. If I was Riley, I wouldn’t be willing to answer these calls, either.
The sound of light footsteps from nearby makes me look up. Archie is standing timidly in the doorway to the living room. He looks a little upset.
“Daddy? Are you okay?”
I nod, trying for a smile. “Of course, bud. Of course I am.” I lift my arms, gesturing for him to come join me on the couch.
He does, and I wrap an arm around him, pulling him into a hug.
“You looked sad,” Archie whispers.
“Yeah.” I nod, glancing down at him. “Well, I am sad, to tell you the truth.”
“What are you sad about?”
“I messed up,” I tell him matter-of-factly. I’ve been doing my best to skirt the issue whenever Archie brings it up, thinking it’s probably too complicated to discuss with a kid as young as him, but right now, I don’t have the energy to pretend everything’s okay.
Archie frowns, confused. “Messed up how?”
“Messed up pretty bad.” I ruffle his hair. “I hurt somebody’s feelings.”
“That’s pretty bad,” Archie agrees.
We sit on the couch together in silence for a moment. My gaze lingers on the empty spot on the wall. I want to hold Riley’s painting in my head, to remember each and every brush stroke, but it’s been long enough now that some of the details have slipped my mind.
“How big did you mess up?” Archie asks, turning to me.