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“Tell her not to forget his treats!”
“Right. Treats, Eden, remember—”
“I’ll get his treats,” I say. “Don’t worry about Ziggy. Good luck in there.”
“Thank you,” Patrick says on a long exhale, laden with emotion.
“Tell her I love her, and I’ll be thinking of her, and all of you. She’s strong.”
“She is,” he says. “She really, really is. Okay. Talk to you soon, Eden.”
“Good luck guys.”
He hangs up and I speed down the familiar streets, like I’m the one rushing to a hospital instead of picking up a smart, spoiled pup.
I have to stop at home to grab Becky’s spare key from my hallway dresser. I’m in and out of my house in less than five minutes.
Only, as I unlock my car door, I realize that I’ve forgotten to check today.
I open my mailbox and pull out a wad of flyers from local supermarkets, fast-food places, and big-box stores. An envelope falls out, landing on the sidewalk.
It has my full name written on it in black ink.
And it’s postmarked in Barbados.
I stare at it for a solid minute, as if I can’t really believe it’s there. I’m not sure I want to find out what’s inside.
Ziggy.Right.
I grab the envelope and jump into my car. My heart is beating fast as I open it, accidentally tearing through the beautiful stamp. I pull out the postcard and several twenty-dollar bills come with it. One of the twenties is a bit crumpled in the corner.
What?
The postcard has a picture of a turtle on it. That makes me smile because, of course, he’d chosen that one. I flip it over.
Eden,
Please find the money you paid me back for our first dinner enclosed. You said you couldn’t let me pay for it, because that would have made it a date. Well, this is me saying it was. Our first.
These weeks with you have been some of my happiest. I know you’re still getting over an ex, and you just wanted a rebound, not to mention the long-distance thing. But all I know, standing here and writing a postcard because you had this wild idea (and I can’t seem to say no to any of your wild ideas), is that I need to see you again.
My phone number is below. One text from you, and I can be on the next plane out to Washington.
Phillip.
I read through it one more time before I carefully place the postcard, envelope, and the bills that had once been mine on the passenger seat.
I drive to Becky’s house in a haze. The route is familiar and, maybe that’s a bad thing because it gives my brain space to turn over Phillip’s words. They don’t sound like they come from a man who was glad to say goodbye to me, who said it was arelief. They seem to say that he was interested in more.
Just like me.
He sent this five weeks ago. Maybe he’s been walking around thinking I received it after a week but hadn’t called, and he's been wondering why.
How can I tell him that I eavesdropped on his conversation? Should I even do that?
Can I make that call?
Ziggy is a bouncing ball of energy when I enter Becky and Patrick’s house. His paws rest on my shin and I scratch him behind the ears, his tail swishing fast.
