I lie back and close my eyes. I let the memory of her soften at the edges until it’s a promise instead of a wound. When I open them again, my trophies are still there, a monument to who I once was.
The next minute, I reach for my phone. I don’t dial. Not yet. I just hold it, feeling its weight in my palm.
Not today.
Not yet.
But soon.
Thirteen
Tabitha
A week later…
I look at my phone, the glare of the screen jarring in the early morning stillness. No missed calls, no voicemails. The only text I’ve sent in the past few days was one asking Lance for a rain check on our coffee date. He was a perfect gentleman about it, told me to let him know when my schedule calmed down. I don’t know if it ever will.
I’ve made it through another day without hearing from Henry.
The ache is still there. It’s a gnawing pain that grows more with each passing day. I have no right to feel the ache. I’m the one who didn’t go to Grand Junction when he asked for me. Why should he call me now?
I push it all aside. I have to. There’s no room for it, not when I have papers to write, procedures to memorize, an exam looming.
I push away from the table and walk to the kitchen counter, my bare feet cold against the linoleum. I pour myself a cup of coffee, cradle the mug in my hands, and take a sip. It’s strong and bitter, just the way I like it.
With a deep breath, I pull out my phone again and scroll through my contacts. Marjorie gave me Henry’s number in one of her texts, and I created a contact. I hover my finger over his name.
Henry.
I didn’t put in his last name. Didn’t need to. For me, there will never be another Henry.
Not Henry Cavill, not Prince Harry, not Henry Golding. All gorgeous Henrys.
None can hold a candle to Henry Simpson in my eyes.
Henry.
The letters blurring together as my eyes fill with unshed tears.
Delete Contact
The words pulse at me.
Yes. No. Yes. No.
I confirm.
Contact Deleted
I close my eyes, the finality of that message sinking in. It was a necessary step, a harsh reminder of the reality I now face. Henry is not a part of my life anymore. He hasn’t been for two weeks, and he won’t be ever again, no matter how much I wish it were different.
No class today, which is rare. I need to use the time wisely, so I head back to my desk where my textbooks and notes are spread across the surface. I stare at the pile, a hint of dread creeping in at the edges of my mind.
But I swallow it down along with another sip of my coffee. I fire up my laptop and begin to type. As I fill the page with medical terms and diagrams, I let myself sink into the rhythm of it and let the repetition comfort me.
Around lunchtime, my phone buzzes. For a moment, my mind conjures images of Henry’s name lighting up my screen, even though I deleted him so only the number would show.
When I glance at it, it’s only a text from Eli.
