Page 72 of The Perfect Love

The other coaches in the room nod in agreement.

“You sure you aren’t interested in coaching? You’ve got a good sense for it.”

I laugh at that. “Nah. I’m just still five years old inside and want to play wiffle ball with my friends.”

“Those were the days,” Aaron says with a laugh.

“I’ll get to work on the full plan and send out emails on Monday. For now, get out of here. Enjoy your weekend.”

“Thanks, Coach.”

I’m energized leaving the meeting. I like feeling helpful and like I might actually be on the right path. I’m in a good mood. Until I check my phone. And there are still no texts from Chelsea.

I don’t want to seem like some needy psychopath, but it’s weird. Normally, we text all day. Some flirty, some silly, some sweet—but it’s always something. I’ve only sent a few at random times, but it sets off something inside me. So, I quickly send one more.

Me: Are you okay?

I hit the send button and that’s when I notice it only says sent. Not received like usual. Which only makes me worry more.What if something’s wrong?What if her phone died, and I need to chill out?

Aaron claps me on the shoulder. “You okay?”

I turn to look at him. I didn’t even realize he was still there.

“Yeah, just debating if I’m being stupid.”

“Obviously, you are. So let’s move on from that existential crisis to whatever’s bothering you.”

He’s got that warm, disarming counselor smile on. He hasn’t even graduated yet, and he’s already got the therapist vibes down. I hate it. Especially when he sees right through my bullshit.

“Chelsea and I usually talk throughout the day, but she hasn’t answered me at all today. And I just realized my texts aren’t going through.”

“And you’re worried?”

“Wouldn’t you be if it was Rae?”

Maybe an over-the-top comparison since they’ve been in love since they were like five years old, but the way I care about Chelsea…

“Of course I’d be worried. Have you tried calling her? Sometimes messaging apps get weird.”

“No. I guess I can do that. I don’t want to come off as too pushy if she purposely hasn’t answered.”

He squints at me in question.

“We’re going slow. She’s been hurt—or something—before. I haven’t even been inside her apartment yet. So I don’t want to scare her if she just doesn’t want to talk.”

“Well, from experience, that might be when she needs you the most—needs you to reach out. Sometimes people need space. Ideally, they should tell the people they care about if they’re going to stop communicating, but let’s face it, good communication is rarely born. It’s something you have to work at. It’s impossible to know exactly what she needs, so all you can do is try to figure it out without seeming like a psycho stalker. Don’t try to break her door down, but check in.”

I snort. “Brilliant.”

“I know. I’m so smart. That’s what happens when you fuck up your relationship for years. I know I’m super awesome, but try not to be too much like me.”

He winks at me, then smacks me on the shoulder before continuing down the path toward the parking lot.

I give him a lame-ass wave while staring at my phone.

Just call.

Worst case, she doesn’t answer.

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