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Jesus. I pick up my gigantic water bottle with both hands, taking a long sip before I try to tackle any of these.
BRIANNA VILLAREAL
Vic just told me what happened. Let me know what your PTO plan is.
I roll my eyes - I’ll deal with that one tomorrow.
Group Text (5)Alex, Carla, Penny, Vic
CARLA MONTGOMERY
All comf at home.
PENNY ROBINSON
After kicking us out.
ALEX CALLOWAY
You’re welcome to come help with the literal baby instead of the functioning adult.
JK Nolan might murder the next person to walk in the door, she’s been crying non-stop and the nurses keep waking us up.
VIC MONTERRO
Hope that’s not an indicator for the next 18 years.
I bite my cheek. Vic was playing with fire - but he wasn’t wrong. Nolan may be a golden retriever, but his parenting skills were close to zip as an only child. The only interaction he has with kids were Brett and Penny’s.
In a separate text with just Penny and me, Alex informs us her milk has come in. As much as Carla is a stronghold in our friend group, especially in more recent years, Alex is closer to our third sister than our friend. I have my own, sobriety-forged sisterhood with Carla that they would never understand, and everyone seemed to be OK with it.
I smile to myself as Penny sends congratulatory .gifs to the group chat, and continue sifting through my messages.
DYLAN ANTON
Hope you’re doing ok, P. I didn’t want to overstay at the hospital. Let me know if you need anything.
Dylan. Oh Dylan. We had left things in a weird place, the last time we were together - New Year’s last year, my wedding anniversary, and I’d promptly broken out into sobs when, after fucking at midnight, I looked at the clock to see what time it was. Whatdayit was. New Year's Day – my wedding anniversary.
Anniversaries were hard - unlike A.A. anniversaries, which I celebrated - the ones that involved Mickey and the trauma surrounding us left me empty on those days, which often involved taking PTO and a morning yoga class. The pain eased as time passed, but the closer we got to May, the anniversary of Mickey’s passing, and his birthday just a few days later, our entire group felt the collective dread.
I’d managed to avoid a ton of interaction with Dylan since the last time we were together, but we almost always saw each other in a group setting when cheering on the Alamos.
Most of these messages I don’t even know how to respond to, so I just leave them on read and keep scrolling.
Nothing. Not a single text from Fitz.
Something in my chest pangs uncomfortably, and I pull Bex closer. Had I scared him, just like I scared Dylan? The physical manifestations of my internal scars just too much?
I make it until Monday before I feel like I’m going to tear my hair out. The last of my Happy Birthday texts from Sunday have come and gone - with a promise from my friends and family to celebrate once I’m feeling better. The last several birthdays have been ghostly reminders of the one spent in the hospital with Mickey, and I haven’t pressed making anything special for this year.
I’ve gone to three virtual meetings in less than 48 hours, watched an entire season ofOutlander, started the same load of laundry four times and when I finally sit down on the couch with the last of the cupcakes Carla brought home yesterday, tempted to text Vic to check in on our recently submitted project, I’m starting to get angry.
What was I thinking? Assuming that Fitz was any different than what I’d imagined all those years ago. Cold. Unfeeling. What else would explain his sudden complete silence after days of back and forth, after something like Friday?
No, I tell myself. Hold on. There was a reason I was starting to let my guard down. Fitz was putting in the effort, more effort than even Mickey had in our beginning, trying to get to know me instead of love-bombing and an endless sea of information on himself only. He was trying.
The silence still hurts.
