Page 4 of Staying Selfless

Marc doesn’t waste even ten seconds before responding.

M: Nice try. Logan, obviously.

E: Have you heard from her?

Logan barely responds to me, and the same goes for Marc. I don’t know if it makes me feel better knowing her distance isn’t solely directed at me, or if it makes me feel worse that she probably feels incredibly alone right now.

M: You know I’d tell you if I had. She’s as unresponsive to me as she has been to you.

E: Fuck, dude. I don’t know how long I can handle this. I’m about to get my ass on a plane to California.

M: I’m surprised you haven’t already.

E: I’m trying to respect her decisions and shit, but I don’t know how much longer I can take this. If she’s not back here by the time we’re home from Chicago, I’m flying to see her.

M: Got to get on the road. See you tomorrow, unless you change your mind about tonight.

I toss my phone back on the coffee table and grab my laptop, searching for different flight options to San Francisco or Oakland out of Minneapolis, just as I’ve done almost every day since Logan left. It’s a little harder to type and scroll with only one hand, but I can still get the job done. There’s a flight early tomorrow morning that I consider, but that would overlap with leaving for Chicago. As much as I’d rather be with Logan, she would kill me if I missed Senior Showcase.

I watch as the clock strikes midnight from my same spot on the couch and a fresh bag of ice on my hand. I’ve checked my phone probably fifty times, hoping that Logan would text me to wish me a happy new year. Though, I guess it’s not technically the new year on the west coast yet. She still has two hours left of the best and worst year of my life.

When I think about it and stop wallowing in self-pity for a moment, it really was the best year I’ve ever had. Nothing can change the fact that I met the love of my life this year, regardless of how shitty the past three weeks have been. The three months I had with her before that could make up for a multitude of shitty weeks, months, and years.

I grab my phone to shoot Logan a text. I don’t know if she’ll reply, but it’s worth a shot.

E: Happy (Minnesota) New Year. You’re the best thing to come out of this year. Hell, you’re the best thing to come out of the last 22 years. I’m going to text you again in two hours to wish you a Happy (California) New Year because I miss you.

I spend the next two hours watching my phone, hoping Logan’s name will pop up, but it never does. I send her another text two hours later as promised and watch as that one goes unanswered as well.

I don’t know if I can take it anymore. I’m at my breaking point. Grabbing my phone, I chuck it against the wall, hoping to smash it and put myself out of this misery. But as soon as it hits the floor, it starts ringing, and I couldn’t be happier that it didn’t break on impact as I stand and rush over to answer it.

“Logan?” I quickly answer the phone without looking at the caller ID.

“What?” the voice on the other end asks. “Marc. Your brother.”

I exhale a defeated sigh.

“What’s up, Marc? It’s after two in the morning.”

“I’m fucked up,” he laughs. “I need a ride.”

“Just crash at the hockey house. You can sleep in my bed.”

“No, no. Lauren won’t leave me alone. I need to leave.”

Rolling my eyes at the sound of her name, I reluctantly grab my keys and put on my shoes. As much as I don’t want to go to that house right now, I don’t want my brother to drive drunk, and I definitely don’t want him giving in to Lauren tonight.

“Fine. Be outside in ten. I’m not going in that house.”

When I pull up to the hockey house, I park right out front and text Marc to tell him I’m here because even though I told him to be outside, he’s not. After waiting five minutes for him to respond, he doesn’t, so I call instead. His phone goes straight to voicemail all three times I dial him.

“Fuck, Marc. Come on,” I mutter under my breath as I sit in my truck and keep my eyes on the front door.

After another five minutes of waiting, I get my ass up and head inside to find him. The music is still bumping, and the alcohol is still flowing, even though it’s well after two in the morning.

Last year I got so fucked up on New Year’s Eve I didn’t even remember that I hooked up with somebody. Apparently, two somebodies. The only reason I know it happened is because a couple of the guys walked in on us and told me about it the next day. I thought it was hilarious. The girls seemingly did not.

This year could not be more different. I’m sober and heartbroken because my girlfriend won’t answer my texts.

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