Page 62 of On the Line

I’m combing my hair with my fingers, getting ready to leave, when Ozzy wakes up. He rubs one sleepy eye while pushing himself up in bed.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice groggy and hoarse.

Is anything ever okay?“Yeah,” I answer with a soft, closed smile. “It’s getting late, I just need to get home before my shift tonight.”

“Let me drive you.” Flinging the covers off, he jumps out of bed, but I stop him.

“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly. “I feel like walking.”

“That’ll take you over an hour …” There’s a subtle change in his expression, it’s so minute I can barely make it out. He looks younger then, standing in the middle of his room as if I’m deliberately abandoning him.

I look away.

I pretend to look for my tote bag.

“I like walking.” My smile is forced, and I feel like I’munintentionally making this awkward but I can’t make myself stop.

Ozzy begins to move forward but stops himself. His chest is bare while he rubs a hand over the top of his opposite bicep as if in a nervous tick. “Okay, then.” He crosses his arms but then drops them immediately.

His tone holds no malice, it’s just a statement. I know he’s just following whatever bleak signal I’m giving off right now, but it hurts nonetheless. Tears prick my eyes. I blink them away.

God, I’m a mess.

I try to leave on a hopeful note. “See you tonight?” I ask since I know he’s also working later today. His smile is warm but muted when he nods.

I want to kiss him goodbye.

Instead, I give him a little wave and leave him standing there.

I walkthe first ten minutes in complete silence. My thoughts are so broody, I can barely stand myself, let alone be in my own company. My phone buzzes somewhere inside my purse, snapping me out of my downward spiral. By the time I find it, lodged between my wallet and makeup pouch, I’ve missed the call.

Seeing who called, I realize I wouldn’t have picked up anyway.

My stomach sinks when my phone dings with the notification that my mother has left me a voicemail. I have a suspicion this might be about Zachary, and my breath hallows with anxiety, hoping he didn’t say anything thatwould incriminate Ozzy. Letting out a shaky sigh, I take my earphones out of my bag to listen to what she’s got to say.

“James, dear,” she says, her tone is curt but worried. “I just got off the phone with Bethany Garret—her poor boy. Why didn’t you tell me Zachary had afireworkaccident last night? Imagine how mortified I was not knowing he wasinjured.” She sniffs. “Anyway, I’m sure you know he’s flying to their house in Turks and Caicos to convalesce.” An icy pause follows until she speaks again. “I wouldappreciate itif you would inform me of these things next time,” she grits, between, what I can only imagine, are clenched teeth. Before hanging up, she adds, “You better answer next time I call.”

Relief washes over me. Deep down I knew Zachary wouldn’t dare retaliate. Although a large part of me feared him when we were together, I always knew he was spineless.

It’s much easier to prey on the weak. They don’t typically fight back.

And last night he finally got a taste of his own karmic medicine.

Deciding I don’t want to be left alone with my thoughts for the rest of the walk home, I delete my mother’s voicemail and dial Connie’s number. We haven’t talked since Zachary and I broke up two weeks ago and, well … there’s a lot to catch her up on.

She picks up on the second ring, out of breath, and tells me she’s out for a morning hike. At least hearing her voice makes me smile. On days like these, I wish I could just head over to her place and curl up in bed with her while she shows me cute cat videos to make me laugh.

We end up talking the rest of my walk home, Connie periodically squealing anytime I mention something Ozzydid or said. I omit the part where Zachary showed up. I don’t want her to worry, but I still feel guilty keeping it from her.

When do Inotfeel guilty?

The feeling seems to have always been a part of me, even when I was a young child. Maybe it’s about time I shed another skin, relieve myself from the constant ache of feeling guilty for everyone else’s actions, or that nagging feeling of never being good enough.

Finally home, I let myself fall into bed, Connie still on the line.

“Don’t you think things are moving too fast though?”

She pushes out a laugh. It sounds more like a squawk. “Says who? The dating police? You’re just having fun. It doesn’t need to be that deep, Jamie. ”

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