Jen and I had fallen asleep on the separate ends of the couch and woke up when Conchita, the longtime housekeeper, let herself in through the front door to tidy the house. We left to go back to school after a quick breakfast of juice and toast. This time, we switched off as driver’s, took longer rest stops and listened to a lot more angry Alanis Morissette music than we had in the last year. By the time we’d arrived at school, I could summarize the previous night as a rush of bad energy, tears and CNN. Even though it felt like a complete waste, I did take a drop of solace in the fact that, like Jen said, I could get back to schoolwork.

And get back to schoolwork I did. I studied longer and more intensely within the next week and a half than I had since freshman year; heartbreak and humiliation channeled fantastically into schoolwork. I was so surprised and pleased with the results of the old fashioned work ethic I’d forgotten about that I almost didn’t want winter break to come, but after the onslaught of all nighters, study groups and eventually, midterms, I was relieved when it did. What made Christmas break the best in years was that I was spending it at Jen’s house; my parents were going on a pleasure cruise and Rachel was busy picking out more preposterous baby names and cribs with her boring husband.

Michael had called more or less once everyday but I had yet to return a single call. I had however kept as many of his voicemails as my phone would allow; just because I didn’t return his calls didn’t mean I didn’t (grudgingly) love or miss him, which I did.

“I miss him,” I told Jen as we packed the last of our things into her car for the long drive to Beverly Hills.

“I know. But you don’t need to be treated that way. You do not need his shit.”

“Yeah...” I muttered though at that very moment I was fantasizing about seeing him again. Even in passing.

The traffic seemed particularly heinous given the looming holiday, and despite the generally enjoyable drive, we were elated to finally arrive. We settled our belongings, turned the house upside down looking for decorations and re-organized it as we set up the plastic Christmas tree we had bought on the way over. By that evening, we had succeeded in covering the house with tinsel and string lights galore; it was almost an eyesore.

After a light dinner, Jen and I sat on the couch in the den without either the stereo or TV on, but just enjoying each other’s company and conversation. It was the first holiday in ages I had felt so relaxed but at the same time, so gloomy.

“Five days until Christmas,” Jen said happily. “Are you excited for your first Cali-Christmas?”

“More than I expected.”

She smiled and nodded her head. “It feels good to be done with school for awhile. How are you holding up?”

I shrugged and hugged the buttery soft red sofa cushion, breathing in the faint but recognizable scent of leather.

“I’m relieved for the holiday break too, but I sort of liked all the work, you know? I kept busy and I felt like I was accomplishing things, but now that it’s vacation... I’m sort of afraid I’ll spend all the free time obsessing over Michael.”

“Well, there’s still plenty of school work for us to do. And we’ll go out and eat and have fun. Be young, you know? You can help me look for baby clothes.”

I looked down at Jen’s stomach.

Though pregnant for a little over two months, Jen had only gained around six pounds, mostly in her chest and legs. The tell baby bump hadn’t yet appeared but Jen’s ob-gyn told her to expect one around the sixteen week mark; she was half way there. The delivery date would be sometime in mid-July, around a month after commencement.

“How is it feeling today?” I asked. “I mean... how is she feeling today.”

“She’s a kicker. Major kicker but okay. I’m still sleeping pretty well.”

I still didn’t entirely understand how she knew the baby’s gender if her baby bump wasn’t even visible yet but I assumed that it was something that a mother could tell... Or it was at least the beginning of the maternal “because I said so” instinct.

“Any new names come to mind?”

“None really but I’m on the look out.”

“Still don’t like ‘Poet’?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I would not damage my child like that. I was thinking Andrea; I could call her Andie or Drea or Ray.”

“I like it... Andrea. It’s very sweet.”

“I think so too but there’s still plenty of time for names. I just want to get through school first.”

“Mhm,” I said with a small yawn. “I’m going to take a shower before dinner, okay?”

“Sure. Towel’s are in the closet.”

With my backpack slung over my shoulder, I trekked up the stairs and into the first bathroom I saw. My cell phone vibrated in my pocket as I undressed, as it often did when I had a new voicemail. I sat on the closed toilet in my bra and underwear and stared at the screen while I considered when I would listen to the voicemail I assumed was from Michael.

I’d made a minor ritual of savoring Michael’s voicemails, even if the voice in the back of my head was constantly chiding me not to.

Because I was already shivering with anticipation, I dialed to my voicemail and listened with my breath held.

“Hi, Callie. I’m in Somerset now. I don’t know if you’ve listened to any of my other voicemails but a bit of the new movie is set in England. The countryside here is beautiful, even during the winter. At least, I think it’s beautiful but the general consensus seems to be that it looks like a hole in the ground right now. Anyway, I’ll be back in L.A. in a few days before I visit my folks back home for awhile. Please call me soon; I’d love to hear your voice and I still want to talk to you. I miss you. I love you. Bye, baby.”

“Ugh...” I muttered.

I really didn’t like the pet name “baby”, but the gentle, sweet way he said it at the end of every message made me... well, almost made me love it. I wanted to squeal and hug puppies. As hurtful as boyfriends could be, they really did an unparalleled job of balling your heart into mush.

I impulsively re-dialed and before I could hang up on the second ring, someone had picked up.

“Hello?”

I gasped but stayed on the line, partially out of curiosity but probably more out of an actual desire to hear his voice.

“Baby, are you there? Hello?”

His voice was quiet, and he sounded tired but buoyant nonetheless.

“It’s Callie,” I whispered so quietly that I didn’t think the phone would even have picked up the sound. But he did. Maybe desperation perked his ears the way “baby” perked mine.

My heart bashed against my ribcage roughly when I heard his sleepy, throaty chuckle.

“Hi,” he said.

I touched my hand to my cheek and smiled a bit. “Hi.”

“How are you?”

Words failed me.

“Callie?”

“Hi,” I repeated.

“Are you doing okay? Are you in New York?”

My brain repeatedly flashed “error” at his question.

“Callie?”

“Yes?” I managed to stammer.

“Could you say something, please? I’m tired of talking already. I want to hear you.”

“No.”

A rustling came from his end and for a second, I feared he’d hung up but the sound of his voice a few minutes later assured me otherwise.

“Well... Do you want to hear about what I've been up to then?”

I pulled my phone away from my ear and double checked the screen to make sure I wasn’t in a fantasy, then I listened again.

“O-okay,” I said.

“Okay,” he replied soothingly. “Um... It’s around twelve thirty in the morning here. Tomorrow the cast and crew are going to some of the famous caves around here as a nice break from work. There’s more apple cider to drink here than I ever thought was possible; I’m still not tired of it. It’s freezing too. By California standards, anyway. I had to buy a thicker the first day here. Uhh... We leave in two days, I’ll go to Maine for a week and a half and then I’ll be back in L.A. Do you think we could meet soon? Even if you bring an assortment of rotten produce to throw at me, I’d be glad to see you anyhow.”

“You’re a shithead,” I blurted.

There was a small break in the conversation but he continued. “And I want to talk to you about that.”

“I hate you.”

Lie.

His reply was seamless. “I love you."

Lie...?

“Are you in New York?” he asked, looping back to the beginning of the conversation.

“No.”

“How are you doing?”

“Okay.”

Lie.

“Really?”

“Y-yeah,” I answered. “I’ve been getting back to schoolwork and doing well and... it's nice.”

“Good,” he said. “That’s really good. How are you otherwise?”

“Listen, if you want me to tell you that I feel miserable and I miss you...”

I couldn’t help but pause as I tried to swallow the bubble in my throat; Michael took advantage of the silence.

“You’re right. Hearing you say those things would be wonderful but if I know one thing about you, it’s that you’re too stubborn to tell me. I just want to hear how you’re doing because I care about you.”

His slight tone of outrage shook the dreamy and wistful right out of me. For a little while at least.

“Hey! Let’s get this straight; you don’t get to demand an answer or give me some shit about caring when you’re the one who messed up.”

“But don’t I deserve some courtesy? If not as your boyfriend, then as the incredibly persistent stalker type who won’t stop calling you?”

I groaned, frustrated with my conflicting emotions. "What do you want then?”

“To see you.”

“Other than that.”

“Why not?” he continued.

“Because... I don't know. I-”

“Callie, if you want to end it, that’s your prerogative, but don’t do it over the phone; you’re better than that. What do you have to lose?”

“I never said I wanted to end anything.”

“Fine, then let’s just hang out for a little while and after that I’ll leave you alone.”

“Doesn’t this proposition sound familiar...”

He gave a small laugh. “And it worked out for you then.”

“No, it didn’t, because you didn’t leave me alone.”

“And then you kissed me.”

I smiled with fondness at the distant memory but kept my voice neutral. “All right, well, I’m at Jen’s house for the holidays, so I’ll be around when you come back.”

“I’ll probably be home sometime around five thirty to six on Sunday.”

“So where do you want to meet?”

“Could you meet me at my place around seven on Sunday? It’d be a little easier for me.”

“All right.”

“Good. I’ll see you then. Love you.”

“Bye.”

“Bye, baby,” he said softly.

I hung up the phone, turned the power off completely, cracked the bathroom door open, and left my phone on the floor while I resumed my shower. And this time, I cried.

“What are you thinking?” Jen asked.

My hands gripped the steering wheel of her idling car and I stared out the windshield at her garage. I’d gone through most of the liquor in Jen’s house anticipating this Sunday.

“I’m not entirely sure what I’ll do but I want to decide something.”

“Isn’t it a little... I dunno, unwise to jump in without a plan? I don’t want to have to see you crying during Christmas; no one should have to do that.”

“Yeah,” I said, acknowledging her valid concern. “I just want to have decided on something. Some kind of resolution.”

Jen snapped a hanging thread from the sleeve of my thermal shirt and patted my shoulder.

“All right, Callie. If you’re sure.”

I gave her a hug. “Positive. See you in a little bit.”

“Good luck,” she said before popping out of the car.

I drove uneasily into the road and flicked the radio on and off, from station to station until I pulled into his driveway next to his familiar black car. I turned the engine off and sat struggling to think of what I would say. Fifteen minutes slugged by as I rehearsed various phrases, when I saw a shadowy figure out of the corner of my eye. And then there was a tap-tap on my window.

I rolled my window down.

“Hi, stranger,” he said. “Do you want to come in? Or... can I come in there?”

“Um. Okay.”

I unlocked the door and waved him inside. He crossed the front of the car and within a few seconds, he was sitting a foot away from me. He seemed like a different person after a few weeks without having seen him or even really spoken to him.

I flicked on the car lights to get a better look in the dark. Once the lighting improved, my vision was drawn immediately to his eyes.

His eyes were the same blue but seemed enormously out of proportion. His paleness and the hollowing in his cheeks sent some alarms off in my head. Then the words just vomited out.

“Have you stopped eating?”

“You noticed,” he said. “But no, I'm still eating. I just cut out carbs. If you think this is bad... Well, I still have five pounds to go for this role."

“You look half-dead.”

“I’ve been getting that a lot. I only have to keep the weight off until the next two scenes are done, which will probably be within two to three weeks. A post-apocalyptic famine is involved.”

“Oh.”

“Anyway, I’m glad you came. Um. You look pretty.”

I stared out the windshield and replied dryly, “I’ve been hungover for two days.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

My upper body tensed when I felt his fingers run across my neck into my hair; I shrugged his hand off and he understood.

“Sorry,” he said. “I... I’ll get to the point. I’m sorry about what happened. Can I explain?”

“Will it make a difference?”

“I think so. It really is more complicated than what it seemed.”

“All right. Go ahead.”

We both faced forward, and as we stared into the darkness.

“Nicole and I were together for almost two years. I’d met her parents three or four times. She’d met mine... And we were great. After being pretty alone in L.A. for the five years I was jumping from bit role to bit role, I’d finally gotten into my first big movie, I’d found a girl and I thought I was set.”
“So, a little before our second anniversary, I got a nice ring and prepped the whole proposal and then I asked her at dinner on our anniversary date. And then...” he paused to let out a nervous laugh. “When I asked her to marry me, she looked up from her soufflé and stared at me like I was a complete stranger. So after the longest silent seconds of my life, I asked her why we were living together then, why we had stayed together for so long if marriage had never even crossed her mind and she said something like ‘Because I’d be lonely in the city otherwise. I don’t know anyone in the city as well as I know you.’ As if we were only roommates or something. She didn’t say ‘I’d be lonely without you’, she didn’t say ‘No one in the city knows me like you know me’. No, it was almost out of convenience she was living with me. I was shocked; I just didn’t understand where the miscommunication had happened.”
“We lived together for two very strained two weeks and at the same time, we were getting more roles and... that didn’t help. Then I asked her one morning why she didn’t want to get married and she said, ‘I just don’t want to’, and I snapped. I told her to leave, and she did. She packed up two boxes and left. It took me a really long to time get over her. And there are still some days I don't feel entirely right."
“So what happened that night when I found out Nicole had married someone she’d known for eight months... I realized then that when she had said that she just didn’t want to get married, she meant she didn’t want to marry me. Not that she didn’t ever want to get married. And old wounds opened up, not old feelings. I was just stunned for awhile.”

“How do you think I felt?” I asked, turning back toward him. “Once she stood upright, I ceased to exist.”

He stared at me in silence before replying, “Callie, do you still love Zach?”

“What?”

“Maybe ‘love’ isn’t the best word but you still have those moments where you think ‘I wish he was here. He’s the only one who would really get this’. You have one or two memories where you really remember why he even mattered, right?”

“Yeah. Okay. So...?”

“Well, I have those kinds of memories about Nicole too, but that doesn’t mean she’s my only memory. It doesn’t mean I love you less. Nicole has her place. Just like Zach does. It’s not that I still want to be with her... She just... She has her place.”

“I understand that but I have a bigger issue with the fact that after your three minute conversation with Nicole... I didn't matter anymore. Everyone's entitled to their memories and a history but it's not fair if those things seem to supersede the people in your life at the immediate moment. I don’t want to be second best to memories of your ex-fiancée. That’s not okay. If there’s one thing that I learned from being with Zach, it is that I am not going to keep forgiving people for treating me like a back up girlfriend.”

“I didn’t mean to make you insecure about my feelings for you or the direction we’re headed in. I mean, Nicole is the reason I’m so fixated with the whole idea of you and I wanting the same things in this relationship, afterall. I was horrible, I know that, but I am sorry.”

I took in such a big breath of air that I thought that my lungs would burst, but instead of the cleansing exhale I’d anticipated, all that came out was a monstrous sigh. I couldn’t help but feel a little worse at the fact that Michael, too, was a sufferer of a largely fractured heart. I understood what he’d been through; Nicole had ripped out his heart and replaced it with a pulsing, deep seated insecurity. I’d had the same thing done to me not once but now, twice. But his explanation had softened my resolve to stay mad; I couldn’t help but finally break the touch barrier and reach for his hand.

“Michael, I know you’re sorry and that you love me but I don’t think I’m ready to start where we left off. As much as I’d like to trust that you won’t do something like this to me again, I don't know if I can. So before we rush into trying to fix things up, I want you to really think for awhile, because if you still aren’t over Nicole... there’s no point in both of us hurting because of her.”

“I don’t need to think about it.”

“But don’t you wonder why you still feel horrible thinking about her?”

“No. I already know why. It’s because she hurt me and that’s all. It doesn't make me feel like shit because I'm still secretly in love with her; I'm not. I’m trying to fix things with you for a reason. We don’t have to start where we left off; we can backtrack. I just made a stupid mistake.”

“Yeah,” I said before a lingering silence.

Eye contact was on and off but neither of us attempted to change gears and say goodbye.

“You’re really thin,” I told him as I looked over his face again, touching a thumb to his prominent cheekbone. “You look mentally ill.”

He grinned. “Thanks. You look pretty.”

This time, I laughed. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. That I didn’t give you the response you wanted. And for calling you mentally ill. And... a number of other mean things.”

“Do you want to come in?" he asked. "Maybe get a glass of water before you go?”

Never in the history of courtship has going into your significant other’s home ever really involved “a glass of water” or even “coffee”, but I accepted anyway. I hadn’t expected to want to hang around Michael any longer than necessary but talking with him and understanding a bit of his past made some of his madness... Well, reasonable. Whatever sting I still felt seemed manageable.

We left the car and walked in silence into the house.

Author's Note: Hi. The next chapter, which I'm still editing out, may or may not have some... action. If said "action" was to occur, it wouldn't be too graphic or heavy but... It would be a little obvious. Or maybe it won't even come up. It's up the air.
Thanks for reading. :)