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I watched the texts flood in.
Joseph: Our call dropped. You must be out of range. Keep your chin up, Heather. I am proud of you.
Joseph: I’ll talk to your mom about New York. I’ll let her know we talked, and I’m on your side.
Joseph: And no—I’m not trying to rekindle anything. I just want to be clear on that.
Joseph: I do think you and I can remain good friends. I’ve always thought that.
Joseph: I wish you luck figuring out what you want to do next.
Joseph: #TeamHeather
Mom: Joseph called me.
Mom: I know you won’t get this today.
Mom: When you do, please call.
Mom: I just want to talk.
“I bet you do,” I groaned, dropping my phone on the bed.
I decided to ignore Mom’s messages and focus only on the positivity of Joseph’s. Perhaps I did still have a friend left in the world—one who would cheer me on as I decided my next step.
What were my next steps, though? That was something else worth thinking about.
I had no idea what career aspirations were calling me. I’d never considered what I wanted to do. I’d fallen into the niches my mother had carved for me and been too afraid to step outside of them. I had never even considered where I wanted to visit. Every single girls’ trip had been the idea of one of the other girls. I was the type of woman who was perfectly content to staycay at home with a bottle of champagne and the newest Netflix Limited Series—true crime documentaries preferred.
“I should get a cat,” I thought out loud. After all, isn’t that what friendless homebodies do? “Maybe a fancy talking bird...”
I giggled at myself verbalizing my own silly inner monologue. I was pretty funny, really, when I wasn’t busy being quiet.
I turned, looking to the bedside table and saw the complimentary notepad and pen. I reached for it and sat up, crossing my legs under one of my bed pillows, which I used as a table for the notepad.
I decided my first order of business would be writing an apology letter to Matteo.
I scribbled his name at the top of the page, then stared at it, blankly, for fifteen or twenty minutes, unable to come up with the correct words.
I finally decided it was a futile effort and tossed both the pen and paper to the far-reaching corner of the room. It bounced off the wall and hit the floor with a thud, and I laughed.
I picked my phone up, staring at the blank screen.
I took a deep breath.
“Just get it over with, Heather,” I whispered to myself, unlocking the phone and dialing Mom’s number.
It rang at least five times. Maybe she was too busy to answer. Maybe I would be saved by her busy schedule.
No such luck.
“Heather!” she said as she answered. “It’s great to finally hear from you! How is the cruise going?”
“I’m having a great time,” I lied. “You wanted me to call?”
“Yes, Honey!” she said. “The last time we talked, the call cut off just as you were telling me you’re not coming to New York. I wasn’t able to talk about that with you. I’ve been unsure how to proceed with the plans. Do you still not want to come?”
“I meant it, Mom,” I said. “I really don’t want to come.”
