His hands grip his hair, pulling back from his face. “You could have called me. I would have come home, and we could have sorted something out.”
Call him, he says. Who does he think I am, Mystic Meg? “I tried calling you several times. You changed your number. I’m not a pissin’ psychic.”
“Don’t make excuses. There are plenty of ways you could have contacted me if you bothered to try.”
“What like, my crystal ball, oh wait…maybe I could have consulted the tarot cards…wait…I got it, maybe I should have just held your journal and the number would have come to me. Stop being a dickhead.”
“I’m the dickhead? You didn’t want anything to ruin your perfect fucking life with golden balls. Just admit it.”
“That’s not true. I even—”
“Save your excuses.”
He won’t listen. How can he say this? He's the one that didn't answer my letter because he was in a relationship with Priya. I tried, I really did.
“Don’t you think I wanted you to come home? I wanted it so badly. I prayed he was yours, so I would selfishly have a piece of you with me forever. A piece of you that would never leave me, that I could hold and love without fear of rejection.” I hold my throat as a strangled sob escapes.
He glares at me, rubbing his fingers across his forehead.
“You were on the other side of the world rekindling things with your ex. I don’t blame you. I want you to be happy, but don’t you dare come back here and blame me for missing out on five months of his life, when you never acknowledged my letter.”
“What fucking letter?” he shouts, pacing in circles, the gravel crunching beneath his boots.
“Are you saying you never received my letter?” My body trembles, but for different reasons this time. He’s scaring me. Though I’m not afraid of him, I’m afraid of him hating me again.
“I never received a fucking thing from you. Don’t you think I would have come back within a heartbeat if I’d known you were pregnant? Fuck’s sake, Steph. It’s like some nightmare or Jeremy Kyle shit.” His words travel through the cool night air, wrapping around my body like a dense fog smothering my skin.
Cal drops on a bench, holding his head in his hands. I slide next to him. He’s calm now, but the silence is deafening. I want him to talk, say anything, but we just sit in silence for a few minutes.
My body shivers under the dark veil of night. My teeth chatter as I sit here in my strappy dress, and he glances my way. He must really hate me or he would have wrapped an arm around me to warm me up.
He stares at me for a moment; the moon reflects in his shimmering eyes. “I don’t even know his name.”
“It’s Caleb.”
“With a K or C?”
“C. A. L.—”
“You called him Cal?”
All I can muster is a nod as I choke back a sob. “I have to go.”
“Sure you do. You always have to go, don’t you?”