Page 24 of We Can't Be Friends

“Thank god.” Seth starts to say goodbye, but I hang up the call.

***

Firing off a text to Emerson, I ask her for Cal’s number.

She puts me through an interrogation before relinquishing his contact information. The shared information comes in, complete with a profile photo from one of the summers she traveled with him and Liam.

Emerson loves photography—she is a wedding photographer as a side gig. Finding her without her camera in her hands is a crime. She always has it.

Her photos from her summer abroad after college are some of my favorite photos she’s ever taken.

Of all the things she does with her photos, this is the funniest. Every contact in her phone has a photo, even an acquaintance. Memories capsulated in pictures or something is her reasoning. Come to think of it, I don’t know what my contact photo is.

What is my contact photo?

I swear if it’s that photo of me from college with the dog filter on it—

EMME: Dog filter photo?

Seriously. . .

EMME: You’re a dog mom?

I swipe out of our text thread, pulling up Cal’s contact again.

Tapping on the photo, I use two fingers to zoom in on his picture as much as my phone will allow—and I won’t allow myself to screenshot it to enlarge it even more, that’s ridiculous.

His smile. I recognize this one. It’s his ear-to-ear, double-dimple smile.

I’ve only seen it once.

How many times has Emerson seen it?

I take in the remainder of the photo, and you can tell it’s cropped down to only him. Liam and their other friend I’ve never met, George, have their arms slung around each other.

Cal’s hair is disheveled, and I suddenly desire to run my hand through it.

You were just cheated on.

From one boy to the next. Here we go again.

Snap out of it, Chloe.

But Cal is different.

I type out two letters and stare at the glowing screen.Hi? Seriously, Chloe?

Holding down the back arrow, I delete my text. Retype it. Delete it again. I repeat this process for too long that I land on calling him.

Isn’t that what all the old folks are saying? Why don’t you pick up the phone?

Callum picks up on thefirstring.

“This is Callum,” he says, his voice securing around me like a life vest. There is an instant safety net catching me, but it is dangerous, as if there’s a small tear, and if I’m not careful, I’ll fall through it.

To what? A heartbreak? A real one, not this fissure that is happening because of Seth.

I have a few of those. Fissures, I mean. Slowly cracking my heart, all small and never enough to do any significant damage.

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