Page 69 of My Best Years

“You’re right,” he utters. “All I want for us is to move forward from here.”

My chest tightens as Callum reaches a hand across the table and threads his fingers through mine. I love the feel of his rough skin against mine. You don’t realize how much you miss the touch of another person until they’re gone. Then, you would give your last breath to feel their skin one more time.

My lips turn up in a soft smile as I gently squeeze his hand, never breaking our stare.

For the first time since we were just kids, it feels like we might be on the same page again.

TWENTY-ONE

Birdie

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” I mutter as I walk through the door.

According to the news, it’s the hottest day of the summer, and my apartment feels like the pits of hell. For whatever reason, the open-concept kitchen and living room always seem to be burning up. I have to keep my bedroom door shut at all times because it’s the only space that consistently stays cool.

When I first moved in, I assumed the excessive heat was caused by the sun pouring in through the large windows, so I put up curtains to help. But as the days pass, I swear it only gets hotter. I’ve tried adjusting the temperature on the AC, but the only room that’s ever bearable is my bedroom.

I can’t do this anymore. This is unlivable. I should be able to enjoy cooking a meal in my kitchen or lounging around on the couch on my day off.

I’m calling maintenance today to ask them to fix this immediately. It’s too hot in here. I simply can’t put it off anymore.

Before brewing a cup of coffee this morning, I realized I was completely out of creamer. I took that as an excuse to go pick up an iced latte. Now, I wish I had stayed out and gone shopping or ran errands. Anything is better than melting away in this apartment.

I set my coffee down on the kitchen counter and walk into my bedroom to change into a sports bra and spandex shorts. The fewer clothes, the better. That’s the only way I’m going to make it through today.

After I change, I turn on every ceiling fan in the apartment and walk back into the kitchen to retrieve my coffee. As I’m grabbing my cup, I hear a buzzing and pinch my brows together when I realize it's my phone ringing on the counter.

It’s probably just my dad. He’s the only person who ever calls me before noon.

I pick up my phone, ready to just answer it, but then my eyes widen when I see it’s Callum’s name lighting up the screen.

It’s been three days since we met for coffee, and we’ve texted a few times since then. But this is the first time he’s tried to call me.

I stare down at my phone as it rings, going back and forth in my head.

Should I answer it?

Or should I let it go to voicemail, text him in half an hour, and say I was away from my phone?

I could say I was sleeping or taking a shower. Both are buyable excuses.

It’s not that I don’t want to talk to him. But what could he be calling to talk about? Could it be just to chat?

Who just calls people these days?!

Texting is more comfortable for me because I have time to think about my response. There’s nothing worse than a phonecall filled with awkward silences. And with the way I’m currently forgetting how to even answer a call, I have a feeling this is about to get really awkward really fast.

As his call approaches its last ring, my thumb flies out and presses answer against my will. I nervously tap my free hand against the counter before pressing the phone to my ear.

“Hey– Hi– Um…hello? This is Birdie.”

I silently smack my palm against my forehead.

“Hey, Birdie,” Callum answers enthusiastically. “Good to know you didn’t change your number on me.”

I chuckle nervously. “Not yet.”

“I thought you weren’t going to answer for a second there. I was just getting ready to leave a voicemail.”