He chuckled again, but the laughter faded sooner than usual.
“Still,” he said, quieter now, “I miss it. I miss you.”
I stared at the twinkling city outside my window, at the rain streaking down the glass.
The words hung between us.
He’d said it so simply, and it shouldn’t have hit me like it did, but there it was. My heartbeat, suddenly louder than the sirens three blocks down.
“I…” I started, then stopped.
What did I even say to that?I miss you toofelt like giving permission to something I couldn’t control.I knowsounded cruel.Samesounded cowardly.
So I looked around my apartment instead, at the fairy lights around my window, at the snow globe from Reckless River glinting in the lamplight, at the half-drunk glass of wine and the half-written email on my laptop. Everything that was supposed to feel safe and familiar suddenly felt… smaller.
He must’ve heard the silence because his voice shifted, uncertain now.
“Sorry,” he said quickly. “That was probably too much.”
“What? No, it’s not—”
“I didn’t mean to make it weird. Forget I said it.”
“Drew—”
“See? This is why long distance is a bad idea.”
“Stop.” I sat forward on the couch, clutching the phone. “You didn’t make it weird. I just… didn’t know what to say.”
“That’s usually my problem,” he muttered.
I huffed out a laugh, even though my chest was tight. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Still sounds like a compliment,” he said automatically, and that, somehow, made it worse like he was trying to steer us back into safe waters while the whole ship tilted.
“Drew,” I said, softer now. “Idomiss you.”
He went quiet for a minute and finally exhaled. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I glanced toward the window, where the neon from the sushi bar across the street flickered against the rain. “But I also miss not overthinking every word I say. And that’s not your fault…it’s just… this.”
“This being the thing we decided to try.”
I nodded, then realized nodding was useless on the phone. “Exactly.”
He sighed, the sound crackling faintly through the line. “You’re already bailing, aren’t you?”
“What? No!” I said quickly. “I’m not bailing, I’m…”
“Rethinking?”
“Analyzing,” I said defensively. “That’s different.”
He made a low sound in his throat. “Right. Because you’re a professional analyzer.”
“Exactly.”
“I get it, Mel,” he said after a pause. “I’m not good at this stuff. Talking on the phone, not seeing you, it’s all weird. I sound better when I’m within arm’s reach.”
