After four years of not saying much to one another, when Cole and I started to speak again, we promised not to shut each other out again. Regardless of the girlfriends or boyfriends in our lives, we promised we’d be there for each other. We always put each other above everyone else in our lives. I feel bad for Erin because she is a sweet girl—even in times that I wouldn’t be. She seems to have as much patience as Cole does, which irks me. I would love to say I’m happy that Cole has such a great girl in his life—and deep, deep, deep inside I am. He’s my best friend. I want him to be happy. He deserves it, but still...
He calls again, and I let the machine pick it up.
“Blake, please answer the phone. Please, baby,” he pleads hoarsely. My heart drops at the sound of his voice and I feel the tears I was holding back run down my face. I finally roll over on my stomach and pick up the phone.
“Hello?” I answer in a cracked voice before I clear my throat.
“Baby, what’s wrong?” he asks in a worried tone.
“Don’t call me that,” I whisper harshly. “Nothing’s wrong.”
“Bullshit, Blake. What happened yesterday?”
“Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”
My heart starts racing as I look at the phone base and start recalling all those movies I’ve seen where the phones are being tapped. The thought of people watching Cole makes me want to wrap him up in cling wrap and tuck him into a corner of my underwear drawer. It hurts me to think of my loved ones being harmed, and Cole has been through enough. We all have, but I can take the pain.
“Cole, I need to call you back. I can’t be on the phone. I...I’ll talk to you tomorrow or another day,” I say in a rush.
“What?” he exclaims. “What do you mean tomorrow or another day?” he emphasizes, growling the last two words.
“I gotta go, Cole,” I say quickly.
“Why? Talk to me, damn it,” he shouts angrily.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” I reply evenly.
“I know you’ve been crying, Blake.”
“Yeah, well, I’m always crying,” I sigh.
“No, you’re not. You never cry during the day.”
I laugh—a real laugh. That’s such a stupid thing to say. As if there’s a right time to cry.
“You’re an idiot. I’ll talk to you tomorrow. Thanks for making me laugh,” I say with a smile as I shake my head in disbelief.
“You know what I mean,” he replies quickly, and I can picture him stopping in the middle of his pace wherever he is. “We’re not done talking, Blake. I need you to forgive me,” he whispers. My heart drops when he says that, and I close my eyes to stop fresh tears from flowing out.
“There’s nothing to forgive. I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” I reply quietly.
He exhales into the phone. “You’re the only one that matters, baby.”
“Stop calling me that,” I say in a shaky voice. “I have to go.”
I hang up before he can say anything else. I make a mental note not to speak to him on the phone through the landline. I need to find out if people can tap cell phones. I look outside and smile at the cloudless day. I figure I might as well enjoy the warm weather while it’s here, so I decide to go to the park for a while before I head to the grocery store.
I walk around Grant Park and fill my insides with warm fresh air. I snap some photos for a couple of tourists and pick a spot to sit in. Herds of people are walking toward the river in their beach gear. It makes me wish I would have brought my bathing suit. I could use a tan. A couple of teenage boys are throwing their football around me. It makes me laugh, and I remember my teenage days and how no teenage boy would dare to get near me. Oh, Cole, you were such a dick back then. Still are.
When I get up, I saunter over a couple of steps to where the ball landed. I bend over, pick it up, and look up in time to see four ogling eyes. I laugh quietly and throw it back over to them. I’m not sure what they’re more impressed about—that I threw it back or that a pretty girl can throw a football. Either way, loud cheers, laughter, and a couple of “Tommy, she’s got a better arm than you!” break out all at once. I laugh loudly and tell them to have a good day as I walk away.
I head down the stairs of the train station and through the long hallway to wait for it. As I stand around listening to groups of teenagers talk about their summer adventures, I can’t help but wish I was their age again. I’d do anything to be young and naive. I would love to go back and slap myself for all the times I spent on Google and other sites trying to find out who my parents were—instead of enjoying my careless life. I look around and see a couple of homeless people, the same ones that are usually in this station. It makes me sad to think that they have nobody. I know I’m an orphan, but I have a family. Maggie, Greg, Becky, Aubry, and Cole. They’re my family, and they’re a damn good family. I wouldn’t trade them for the world.