Page 111 of Mr. Wrong Number

“You seriously don’t believe me?” I pulled out my keys and said to Will, “Screw you.”

“Language,” my mother gasped as my dad muttered, “Christ almighty.”

“I’m leaving now,” I said, running toward the door, irritated by my family but too desperate to get to Colin to care. I got in my car, put it in reverse, and flew out of the driveway, terrified he was already gone.

I glanced toward the house and saw a crowd of faces watching me, all jammed into the square of my parents’ front bay window. I knew I should wave, or feel bad for ditching them on a holiday, but I put the car in drive and took off.

I had to get to Colin, and nothing else mattered.

•••

I TOOK Adeep breath and knocked again.

It was my third round of loud knocks, but there was still no answer.

Come. On.

Was he gone already? Had I missed him? I wondered if Jack knew how I could find him in Chicago if he’d already left. I knocked again and then pulled out my phone.

Maybe the thing that brought us together—and tore us apart—could get through to him.

Me:Tell me exactly what you’re wearing, Mr. Wrong Number.

I slid down the wall and sat on the carpet of the hallway, without a plan but absolutely unwilling to consider what his absence meant.

He couldn’t leave. Hecouldn’t.

After a good five minutes, I texted:I am out in your hallway, wearing the sexiest top you’ve ever seen.

I sent the message, and then I took a selfie of the dumb sweater and sent it.

He didn’t respond, and after ten more minutes, I stood and ran my hand over his door. I blinked back pools of heavy tears and tried one last time, just in case. There were still no sounds from within, so I cleared my throat and rested my forehead on his door.

“It sounds bizarre, but I didn’t realize until today that I’ve forgiven you for the whole thing. As soon as Jack said you’re moving to Chicago, nothing else mattered but seeing you and begging you not to go.”

I blinked back the tears and added, “Unless you’re dying to go. Then I’ll just beg you to text me a lot and let me visit orsomething.” I straightened and muttered, “Shit. He’s probably not even home.”

“He’s home.”

My head snapped around and there was Colin, two doors down in the hallway and walking toward his apartment in a black North Face jacket. His cheeks were red like he’d been outside for a while, and he was looking at me with a stoic face, no warmth at all in the blue eyes I’d been having dreams about for a month. My stomach dropped, and I struggled to think of words as he held me in his cold stare. I’d practiced on the way over, but the only thing I was able to come up with was “Were you really going to move to Chicago without telling me?”

I hated that my voice cracked when I said it.

“Why would I tell you?” He looked down at my stupid pumpkin sweater but didn’t say anything about it. “Does it matter?”

I nodded.

His eyes narrowed. “What does that nod mean?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what, Marshall?” He gestured for me to get on with it. “Help me understand what is happening here.”

I put my hands in my coat pockets. “I’m trying to apologize.”

“By nodding at me.”

I nodded.

---