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“I’d marry you right now, James.”
“You know why that can’t happen.” He gave me a smile. “Just trust me. Let’s try to do once a weekend?see if we can stick to that.”
“Every Sunday?”
“Every Sunday.”
“But this is still a break?”
He nodded. “Temporary break. It’ll get better with time.”
…
Kate
~ October 31st, 2009 ~
ME: HEY. IT’S SUNDAY. What time do you want to talk?
Me: Hey, it’s a little after midnight … Are you still going to call me?
Me: James … It’s Monday. Are you going to call?
Me: James, seriously?
Me: …
Me: I emailed you …
Me: Has something happened?
Me: So, you can email me back, but you can’t CALL?
Me: I sent you a postcard as well. My first one. Did you get it?
JAMES GARRETT
P.O. Box 32576
Wharton School of Business
3. 13. 85.
Three Sundays and yet, no phone calls. Thirteen voicemails I’ve left on your phone. Eighty-five times that I’ve reread all your postcards, and eighty-five days since you’ve sent the last one. I’m frustrated, James.
I’m still waiting…(but what the hell is going on?)
Kate
ME: MY POSTCARD WAS sent back … I wrote the address just like you’ve done. The post office must have misread my handwriting. I’ll write neater next time.
Me: It was good getting an EMAIL from you today. I would’ve preferred a call …
Me: I’m going to stop texting you …
Me: James, this isn’t like you at all. You can’t even Skype me anymore????
MORE WEEKS PASSED, and my text messages went unanswered. Outside of an occasional, “I miss you, Kate,” email from him—an email that didn’t address any of the things I’d written or sent to him, nothing else changed.
Our connection was unraveling, the wires fraying and breaking with each passing day.
Still, I missed him so much that it physically hurt. The pain woke me up at night, and the distance between us made me break into tears upon just thinking about it.
I didn’t want us to end. I wanted our love story to etch itself onto the pages of the best book, to be reread for years to come, but deep down, I knew reality always found a way to mess up my places.
“It’s not the end, Kate. Just wait for me …”
…
Kate
~November 5th, 2009 ~
EIGHT WEEKS.
Not a single phone call, email, or a postcard from James in eight fucking weeks.
I even bought a new phone and started a new number out of anger, but I still obsessively checked the old one. Even if it never rang with his name.
I’d listened to every song Adele had ever recorded, cried myself to sleep night after night, and used Sarah Kay as a decoy on weekends, since outside of rehearsals, I didn’t have the energy to practice. I’d never been more convinced that I’d lost the man of my dreams for no reason. The so-called love of my life.
“You’ve got to get out of the bed today, Kate.” Sarah Kay pulled the covers off of me. “Like, this has to stop.”
I rolled over and groaned. “Get out of my room.”
“No.” She pulled the window drapes open, letting in the rays of the sun against my wishes. “I’m not covering for you anymore this week, by the way. I have a life, and I’d appreciate it if you got back to yours.”
“Do you think he died?”
“What?” She rolled her eyes. “No, he didn’t die, Kate. He told you he wanted to take a break, and then he offered a one day a week thing, but that didn’t work out. He’s ghosting you, probably, but he didn’t die.”
“Forgive me for asking.”
“You don’t even know him that well.” She sat on the edge of the bed. “I mean, think about it. I know the sex was probably good—”
“It was more than good.” I cut her off. “It was perfect.”
“Right.” She nodded. “Well, outside of the sex and him doing things here or there, what do you know about him? Outside of the fact that he’s hands-down the sexiest guy we’ve ever seen … what else is there?”
I let out a sigh. I didn’t have the energy to go through this with her right now. Before I could roll over again and play another Adele track, there was a knock on the door.
Our housekeeper.
“Yes, Miss Hannah?” Sarah Kay said.
“Grant Harrison is here to see your sister,” she said. “Should I tell him that she’s still, um …” Her voice trailed off for a few seconds. “Should I send him away and get her some more tea?”
“No,” Sarah Kay answered for me. “She’s going to stop being pathetic as of today. Tell Grant she’ll be down in twenty minutes.”
“I JUST ASKED YOUR DAD if he would grant me permission to marry you.”
“What?” I laughed. “Did you tell him that you’re on drugs right after that?”
“I’m dead-ass serious, Kate.” His expression remained stoic as he loosened his tie. “I need you to hear me out.”
