I tell myself he probably opened the message at a weird moment. That he’ll text me when he gets out of his meeting or whatever else he said he had tonight.
It’s fine.
When I get home, I fix myself a quick and easy dinner of chicken and Greek salad. I curl up on the couch, turning on aromcom that I watch way too often when I’m feeling down. I keep checking my phone even though nothing’s changed. No new texts. No new calls.
Nothing from him.
I try to focus on anything else, anything that doesn’t feel likewaiting. But my mind drifts anyway, back to a version of Jude that doesn’t exist anymore.
~ A memory ~
We’re nineteen and twenty, sitting on the slanted roof outside his bedroom window. The sunset spills gold and soft orange across the ocean, light catching on the waves like a thousand tiny mirrors. The wind carries that familiar scent of salt and seaweed as it brushes through our hair.
His guitar rests on his knee. Fingertips skim the strings, coaxing out the melody of the song he wrote for me. He sings it quietly, eyes half-lidded like he’s soaking in the moment. He always looks different when he sings, softer in a way.
“By day I’ll build you walls, by night I’ll keep you warm.
Whatever comes, whatever falls, I’ll hold you away from the storms.”
I smile because I know he wrote it for my anxiety. For all the nights when my world feels like it won’t stop vibrating. Jude has always been the one who pulls me back together. He’ll hold me and hum this song against my skin, promising protection from everything.
From the world.
From my own head.
The window behind us slides open, and Vanessa pokes her head out, glossy black hair swinging forward. “Lovebirds,” she teases, handing out two tall glasses of ice cream swirling through dark soda. Dr. Pepper floats.
Jude lights up. “You’re asaint, Vessy.”
She groans at the nickname. “Hate thatso much.” Thenshe’s gone again, leaving us and the coastal breeze and the sound of waves crashing against rocks.
Jude sets his guitar down and gently taps his float against mine. “To the best mistake we ever made.”
I laugh and take a sip. Cold, sweet, fizzy. The first time we made these, it was by complete accident. We were out of root beer, too high, and too lazy to drive anywhere, so Dr. Pepper became the new sacred recipe. It stuck.
He stretches his legs until his toes tap the gutter, then glances sideways at me. “Alright. Tell me.”
“Tell you what?”
“What kind of house you want when I make it big?” He tries for playful, but sincerity bleeds through this radiant smile.
I suck a bit of ice cream through the straw, pretending to think. “Honestly? Something like this.”
He snorts. “Something like my parents’ house?”
“Exactly like it,” I insist. “Cozy. Quiet. Windows everywhere. I’ll have a room facing the water so I can paint. You’ll have a little studio. And maybe…” My voice softens. “Maybe a kid or two. I don’t know yet.”
His grin hits me, and it’s pure sunlight. It’s wide, soft, and stupidly hopeful. He leans in to kiss me, deepening it when my fingers slip into his hair. He tastes like vanilla and Dr. Pepper and a future I dream about every night.
I often fall asleep rereading his goodnight texts and think,I’m so lucky. I found something beautiful. Something pure.
When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine. “I’ll make all of that happen someday, Em. I swear. I’ll work so hard to be the best for you.”
And I believe him. His talent amazes me—his lyrics, the rawness in his voice as it rasps out of its boyish edges. I can already see who he’ll become. We stay on that roof until the sunslips under the horizon, until the sky fades to lavender, and until the air cools and he pulls me into his chest to keep me warm.
~*~
My phone buzzes sharply on the table, ripping me from the memory. My heart leaps—then sinks. A calendar alert. Not him.