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I wave him on. “Sure. No problem. Either text me the requests, or I can add it to my notes app. Whatever’s easier for everyone.”
Gary pokes his head into Bjorn’s room. There’s some low-key mumbling, and I take the opportunity to check my phone for the gazillionth time, even though I know what I’ll see. Or won’t see, as the case may be. As expected, there are no new messages or voicemails from Gunnar. Dammit, Gunnar. Where are you?
I practically jump out of my skin as Gary touches my shoulder. “Nothing yet?”
With a quick shake of my head, I slide my phone back into my pocket. “What’s the verdict on lunch?” He texts me everyone’s orders, and I head for the elevators, desperately trying to keep my mind from further catastrophizing. I’ve already imagined Gunnar in an accident, lying on the side of the road, bleeding, and unable to call for help. I’ve also thought of him stuck on the side of the road, broken down in the middle of nowhere, without cell service. And in one dazed waking-dream, I even considered he might have been captured for ransom. At that point, I mentally slapped myself and turned to social media for a distraction. This trek to the deli is just another way to keep my mind from dwelling on the fact my boyfriend took off in the middle of the night without a word to anyone and isn’t returning calls.
I push open the hospital doors and step out into the crisp afternoon air. It takes about fifteen minutes to walk to the deli, and as I wait for my order, I call Tom. He picks up on the first ring. “Jocelin. He show yet?”
Disappointment hits me just as hard this time. “Hi, Tom. No. And he’s still not answering his phone. I’m starting to imagine all kinds of awful things have happened to him.”
A deep growl rumbles through the speaker. “Okay, it’s still not time to panic.”
I feel stupid asking, but I can’t help myself. “Doyou think something happened to him? Wouldn’t he have called by now, if he was fine?”
The huge sigh on the other end of the phone doesn’t set my mind at ease. “Jocelin, I wish I could say yes. But I think he’s trying to work through what’s happened. Not only did Bjorn give him a real scare, dredging up old issues, but he knows he didn’t handle things well, and that has him even more rattled. But no, I don’t think we should panic yet. He’s probably fine.”
I exhale, frustrated, but I don’t disagree. “You’re right. I know you’re right.”
“Look, he’s taken one or two overnight rides in the past when things have been bad. I hope he calls to let us know he’s okay, but even if he doesn’t, this isn’t completely out of character.”
Tom’s right. I need to give Gunnar time. “Thanks, Tom.”
“No problem. Hey, let me know what happens.”
I rub my temple, feeling a headache coming on. “I will. Thanks again.”
We hang up, and I try Gunnar—again—even though I know he’s not going to answer. As expected, voicemail picks up. This time, I leave a message. “Hey, it’s me. I’ve been trying to call you all morning. Would you please call me? I’m worried about you.” I consider telling him that I love him, but this is definitely not the time to drop that bit of information, so I hang up and stuff my phone in my pocket.
When my number is called, I pay for the food and head back to the hospital. I hand Gary one of the bags of sandwiches and chips, and he pokes his head into Bjorn’s room, passing it over. Astrid comes out to eat with us, and after a brief moment where we all concentrate on our lunches, conversation starts again. We avoid talking about Gunnar, but I know if he’d called or texted anyone here, they’d tell me.
We anxiously wait for both of the Osouf men to let us know they’re okay, but neither decides today is the day for that. Eventually, I get tired of sitting in uncomfortable chairs, lost in my own miserable thoughts, and opt to go home instead. I make my goodbyes with the promise of seeing everyone tomorrow. When I pull into the parking space, I stare at the empty slot where the bike should be and sigh, unsure if I should be mad or sad. Probably both.
Exhausted, I ride the elevator up to the loft and toss my coat over a chair before pouring myself a very large glass of wine. With frazzled nerves, I turn on the sound system, and Spanish guitar drifts through the room. Dracona makes an appearance, announcing she’s ready for dinner, and though it’s a little early, I don’t have the energy to tell her no. “Spoiled, beautiful girl.” When I pick her up, she rubs her face against my chin. I scritch behind her ears, and she purrs contentedly. “Come on. Let’s get you fed.” We go into the kitchen, and I pour kibble in her bowl, stroke her back a few times while she eats, then go back to the living room. In an effort to distract myself, I grab the nearest book and drop onto the sofa. But instead, I end up staring at the same page for five minutes, all but chugging my wine. With a disgusted sigh for the entire annoying day, I give up and decide to go to bed.
I leave a light on in the living room in case Gunnar comes home late, then I head upstairs. By the time I’m done with my bedtime routine and crawl into bed, I barely have enough energy to pull the blankets over myself. Curling up, I stare at the cold, empty space on Gunnar’s side. Exhaustion, loneliness, and worry win, and the tears flow silently. Please let him be alright. I really don’t know what I’ll do if anything happens to him.
I pull Gunnar’s cold pillows around me, pressing them to my face and tucking them against my chest, breathing deeply to catch any lingering scent of him. It’s a sorry substitute for the warm body I want wrapped around me, and it only makes me miss him more. I bury my face in the pillows and quietly cry myself to sleep.
The next morning, I wake up just as tired as when I went to bed, with the added bonus of feeling utterly out of sorts. My eyes are red rimmed and puffy, and my head pounds with a raging headache. I glance at the empty space next to me, and an overwhelming ache settles in my chest, followed almost immediately by anger. Where the fuck are you, Gunnar?
I toss the covers aside and go into the bathroom, angrily brushing my teeth before I take a cool shower, hoping the temperature alleviates the worst of my puffy eyes and headache. It doesn’t.
Dressed in comfortable jeans and a sweater, I go downstairs and make myself some toast and tea as I text Astrid.
Me:Morning. Hear from either brother?
Astrid:Good morning sweetie. Unfortunately, no. Sorry
Astrid:I was hoping you’d heard from Gunnar
Astrid:Bjorn hasn’t woken up yet but hopefully soon
Astrid:fingers_crossed emoji
Me:thumbsup emoji
Me:I’m going to stay here in case Gunnar shows up
