Page 75 of Love You Madly

As I pull into the mall parking lot, I take a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves. The walk to the Verizon store feels surreal. I spot a woman behind the counter and her name tag confirms she’s Sandra, exactly who I was hoping to see. She greets me with a warm smile.

“We charged it for you,” she says, handing me the phone. “It should be good to go. Obviously you won’t be able to make calls or texts from it anymore since you got a new device already but you should be able to recover your photos and everything.”

“Thank you so much,” I say, relief washing over me. I hurry out of the store and find a bench in the mall where I can sit and turn on my phone. The moment it powers up, I hold my breath,hoping everything is still there. When the home screen finally appears with my favorite picture of me and Barrett, relief floods through me.

I will never not back up pictures again. There they are. Every single one of them. Thank fucking God.

The phone starts to ping with messages that were sent before it was turned off. There are several from the group chat with the guys, but I don’t pay much attention to those. My eyes are drawn to Callie’s messages. My heart sinks as I read them.

Callie:

Hey, Owen… Haven’t heard from you in a bit. Hope everything’s okay. Miss talking to you. Could really use a friend right now.

Shit… I hope she’s okay.

Callie:

I wish you would at least have the decency to tell me what’s going on. If you’re with Karissa now and can’t talk, I get it. But just say that.

Yikes…

I’m really going to need to think before I send her a text… I’m not sure how this is going to go.

I don’t know if she’s even going to respond.

What if she’s already moved on?

I have,I think to myself.

Fuck.

No, I haven’t. Not really.

I make the drive back home and ponder what I’m going to say to her. The ride back to Mount Vernon feels even longer. The sun is setting, casting a warm orange glow over the fields. Ikeep rehearsing different messages in my head, none of them feeling right.

By the time I pull into my driveway, the sky is a deep blue, and the first stars are starting to appear. I head into my apartment, kicking off my shoes and dropping my keys on the table again. The familiar scent of home does little to calm my nerves. I sit down at the kitchen table, staring at my phone.

I type out what feels like fifty different messages and delete them all. Finally, I decide to just go for it.

Me:

What’s up, chick?

Fucking brilliant.

thirty-three

CLUMSY - FERGIE

CALLIE - JULY 10, 2013

Owen:

What’s up, chick?

I blink, staring at my phone as if the words will rearrange themselves into something that makes more sense. It’s been three weeks. Three. Whole. Weeks. And that’s all he has to say? No apology, no explanation—just a casual, “What’s up, chick?” like he didn’t completely vanish for nearly a month.

My grip tightens around the phone. I want to yell, scream, throw the damn thing across the room. After all the texts I sent, practically begging for a reason, some kind of closure… and this is what I get?

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