Page 37 of We Were Something
I guess if I think about it a bit more, the actof calling Paige isn’t the daunting part. It’s all the stuff that comesafterthe calling that has my hands sweating like I’m going through puberty.
What do I talk to her about?
What are the things that matter to her thatshe’llwant to talk about?
Do we even have one thing in common that will make this conversation anything other than awkward and uncomfortable for both of us?
I’ve never been a big talker in general, always choosing fewer words and a smile in place of rambling on and on, with anyone. My mom has always described me as the strong silent type, the one who listens a lot, who observes closely before making a judgment.
And with Jen…hell, we talked, sure. About the things we had in common—school, Greek life—and then after we got married, we had the routine conversational points we hit on each day as I moved through medical school and got my first job. The stresses of it all. The people who intentionally made things difficult. The cases that felt too big when I was so young and finding my feet in the doctor wading pool.
But as the years progressed, we didn’t talk about anything other than the tiny things that kept us strung together. Mutual friends, though they were mostly hers. My mother. A bit about work, but I knew she didn’t really care about my career at that point, having asked me early on not to share about my cases because she couldn’t handle the emotional rollercoaster.
At the end, our conversations were mostly just veiled attempts for her to tear me down because I wasn’t giving her what she wanted. The more upset she became, the louder she shouted, the angrier she got…the more I did the opposite. I calmed, quieted, leveled out, and pulled away. Until the chasm between us grew so large that even lobbing a word in each other’s direction a few times a week felt like such an extraordinary effort that our conversations just halted.
So as I stare at my phone, I struggle to come up with what I should even say to Paige in the first place.
Eventually, though, I know I need to either call her or text her something to explain why I’m not calling. Andthatthought is enough of a chastisement in itself to have me pressing the green call button.
“I wondered if you were going to actually call me,” she says by way of greeting after only two rings.
“Yeah, sorry to call so late. It’s been a long day.”
“Really?”
“Mhm.”
“You sure you weren’t sitting in your house staring at your phone trying to decide whether to call me or not?”
I glance around, wondering if she’s somewhere in my yard peering through the windows.
“Am I right?” she asks, a slight giggle in her voice.
I lick my lips and clear my throat, nodding my head until I realize she can’t see me over the phone.
“Yeah. I guess I was doing some of that, too.”
“You make it seem like talking to me is so scary,” she says, her voice light and easy. “I’m not scary, am I?”
Taking a deep breath and letting it out, I decideno,Paige isn’t scary. But that doesn’t mean I’m not still scared.
“No, Paige. You’re not scary,” I reply. “But Iwasnervous about calling you,” I tell her, deciding honesty is better than trying to seem more sure than I really am.
“Oh? And why is that?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, really. I guess it’s just been a long time since I’ve talked to a woman on the phone like this.”
“Like what? On a phone that doesn’t have a rotary dial and a long cord connecting it to the wall?”
At that, I let out a bark of laughter.
“I’m shocked you even know about those.”
“Hey, I’ve seenStranger Things. The 80s looked pretty cool.”
I groan and cover my eyes with my palm. “I can’t believe you just said that. I am so going to hell.”
She giggles on the other end of the line, and the sound is just… Even through the phone, it lights something in my chest that I thought had long been extinguished and left dormant.
