The worst possible place to be.
Realistically, I knew I wouldn’t hear from Bennett. I know it’s over. But every day that passes without a call or text still stings.
It probably doesn’t help that I’ve re-read the birthday texts from Griffin about a hundred times.
It felt nice to be thought of, to be remembered. We haven’t really talked in over a year, minus the texts from a few days ago. And given what happened the last time we spoke…I definitely don’t deserve this kind of thoughtfulness.
There have been so many times I’ve wanted to reach out, to extend an olive branch of some sort. But at this pointI’ve been so committed to holding a grudge, I don’t know how to undo it.
There’s something deeply broken in me in that regard–I refuse to give second chances, even when I know I’m wrong. It doesn’t matter how small the sleight, or how unintentional it was. I think I’m mostly convinced that if I let someone back in, they’ll hurt me even worse the second time around.
Not to mention I have no idea how Bennett would react if I started hanging out with the guys again.
I guess I don’t have to worry about that anymore.
Besides, one birthday text doesn’t mean he evenwantsan olive branch. Maybe he just saw that I looked upset in the parking lot and felt sorry for me. All this time I’ve been so dead set on holding my grudge that I didn’t consider he might have one of his own.
My mouth turns to ash at that train of thought–what if this is some full-circle moment for him, and seeing me spend my birthday alone is some sort of vindication? What if he took some sort of sick pleasure in reminding me of the kind of friendship I missed out on?
I don’t think that’s in his nature. He’s one of the most genuine, earnest people I know. He never does things out of obligation—it always seems to come from some deep-seated need to make sure everyone around him ishappy. And he certainly isn’t spiteful or malicious–his teasing has always been goodnatured, even when it was driving me nuts.
But then again, I don’t really know what his nature is anymore.
I scroll through our texts again, landing on the last thing I sent.
I guess I’m just a birthday adult now. Thanks for remembering. Goodnight Griffin.
A not-insignificant part of me has hoped that he would reach out again.
But if I’m the one who ended the conversation, shouldn’t I be the one to start it up again?
Texting Griffin would be a bad idea. I’m still not ready to have a conversation about what happened, no matter how much time has passed. All it does is open a door for more disappointment, and more heartbreak.
Or it could work out.
I stare at my phone, every warning signal in my brain screaming “bad idea!” at me. I’m not going to do it. My parents will be home on Sunday. Abby will be back Monday. I’ll be fine. I’m not going to text him.
I’m totally going to texthim.
Ellie:Hi.
I toss my phone to the other side of the bed and scream into a pillow. I can’t un-ring that bell now–all there is to do is fixate on my anxiety until he texts back.
If he texts back.
I shoot straight up when my phone dings, sending my pillows flying off the bed.
Griffin:Hey darlin’. What’s up?
I go numb with shock, like my brain forgot that the whole point of texting someone is so that theywilltext back. But now that he’s replied, I have no idea what to do with myself.
Reply, you idiot.
Ellie:Nothing really.
Ellie:It’s been kind of a lonely break.
Subtle.
