Page 133 of Error Handling

“I should grab this,” I say.

Cassie nods.

“Hey.”

“Oh my gosh, Sarah,” Luna hollers through the phone. “I just got your message. How awful. What do you need? Ask me for anything. Do you want to talk it out?”

“I’m talking through it with Cassie at Joe and Go.”

“Okay. I don’t want to bother you then. Do you need anything? I’m here for you.”

“Actually, can I stay at your place? I don’t want to go to my apartment. Chris and I were working on the living room flooring and the kitchen, and...” My chin trembles. I fight back tears. I don’t want to cry again.

“Of course! Stay as long as you like. I’m home, so whenever. We can watch movies and eat popcorn. It will be fun.”

I smile at the phone. “Okay, I’ll be there in a bit.”

We say our goodbyes and I drop my phone back into my purse.

“So, you aren’t going to be alone tonight?” Cassie asks.

“No. I can stay at Luna’s.”

“Good. I feel better letting you go off into the wild now. Surround yourself with people. Soul healing happens so much faster in the company of others.”

I wish she was wrong, but the healing I’ve received from my short conversation with Cassie is evidence of the truth of her statement.

We walk to our cars, say our goodbyes, and I’m left with a warm feeling, despite all the trauma of the day. When I’m safely locked inside my car, I pull out my phone. Maybe Cassie knows what she’s talking about. Maybe it’s not over.

Maybe.

I pull up my last message to Chris and begin typing.

Can we start over?

Chapter 22

Chris

Sarah’s text glows on my phone.

I don’t feel like responding. Instead, I settle into my threadbare couch in my sad little apartment and stare at her message.

Memories flash through my mind. Singing Manchester Orchestra to her in her back porch. Wiping down her back with mineral spirits. Laughing over cans of Coke between my subfloor repair and her vinyl scraping. Making out on my couch. Making out on her couch. All while she was texting miniature Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man behind my back.

I want to believe she’s telling me the truth. That she kissed him before we kissed, and nothing more happened. I don’t like it. But I might be able to accept it eventually. What I’m having trouble accepting are the what-ifs. What if she’s hiding something else from me? What if I leave for Puerto Rico, and she keeps up her little relationship with the HR rep while FaceTiming me on the side?

HR rep. I roll my eyes.

An HR rep is a respectable profession—arealjob. Fixing plumbing that’s spurting like a geyser? Not so much.

I sigh and swipe out of my Messages app. I almost throw my phone on the couch, but I pull up my photos instead. It’s been forever since I uploaded anything to my laptop. Some photos I keep on my phone just because, including a few old photos of Allison.

After several seconds of swiping, I pull up a picture of us. We’re standing at the entrance to Six Flags, St. Louis. Allison is smiling broadly, her teeth straight and white, curls tumbling past her shoulders. My head is turned, my face buried in her hair, the corner of my mouth turned upward.

I still remember how her hair smelled. She used Biolage shampoo. I can’t believe I remember that.

My phone rings and our picture disappears, replaced by my caller ID.