Page 32 of Rectify

Convincing myself that sending a follow-up message is all in good faith, I offer him my condolences.

Me: It seems like you had a rough day, I’m so sorry about your loss.

The phone rings almost immediately, and I drop it in shock. I contemplate not answering, but I just invited the dialogue, didn’t I? If I hear his voice, and his vulnerability, I’ll be coerced into a world where only forgiveness and empathy exist. Texting doesn’t feel as consequential. The call goes to voicemail, and I wait to see if he leaves a message. He doesn’t. Instead it rings again, and I have no choice but to answer it.

“Hello.”

“Hey.” His voice is nothing but exhaustion. The off-kilter tone he had earlier now missing. “I’m not much of a texter.”

“I wasn’t expecting a response.” I put a hand over my mouth as he chuckles. I didn’t expect that to sound as rude as it was. “Sorry, that came out wrong.”

“I know what you mean.”

“I’m sorry,” I say on a sigh. “I’m just not used to this.”

“Talking on the phone?” he jokes.

“I mean seeing you. Talking to you.”

“Do you want to get used to it?” Gravel laces his voice, all the possible meanings to his loaded question flutter around in my lower belly.

“I don’t know if I can handle that.”

“No rush, Pretty Girl. We’ve got time to figure it out.” That damn nickname has me wanting to burn up in flames, my body unable to contain its response to hearing it. Without thinking, I blurt out, “Come over.”

“What?” His hesitation has me ready to retract the words when he beats me to it. “Fuck the explanation. Tell me where and I’ll be there.”

“Sorry,” I offer out of shock. “I don’t know what just came over me.”

“Who cares, let’s take advantage of it before the sun rises and common sense takes over.”

I smile to myself, his simple statement the very reason I became so captivated by him in my youth. Everything was tomorrow’s problem, and for someone who was as uptight, and insecure as I was, his lease on life was the antidote I needed.

“So, I take it you’re coming then?”

“Wait. No.” My stomach drops. “What about your daughter?”

I blow a breath out in relief, his concern about Dakota another reason I want to get to know this Jay. He’s caring and courteous to my circumstances. A side of him I don’t know. “She’s at her dad’s.”

“I’ll call an Uber,” he rushes. “I’ll be there soon.”

“Where do you live?”

“I’m temporarily at my dad's place.”

I mentally calculate the distance between his place and mine. “Do you know where Freeway Ridge is?”

“I’m sure the Uber driver does.”

“Okay, I’ll text you the exact address.”

“See you soon, Sash.”

He hangs up before I can say bye. I flick him a text with my address and bolt off the bed to change out of my pyjamas. I slip into a fresh pair of leggings and put on a bra. Nothing sexy, just to ensure my clothes stay on.

Covering up with a long, white tank, I finish the look with a perfected messy bun that looks somewhere between I didn’t try too hard, but I still care what I look like.

The cynical part of me half expects him to bail, so when the doorbell rings, I’m a little thrown off guard. I take one last look in the mirror and deem myself presentable enough for his company.

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