Cabin Fever(2)

 

“Uhhh … hey … Leah? It’s Sarah! Remember me? Sarah Booker? I’m that jerk of a friend who hasn’t called you in ages. It’s been like a year already. Maybe more than that. Ugh, I hate myself. Anyway, I have some news, so I hope you’ll call me back soon so we can talk about it.” I hesitate, wondering how much more I should say in the message. I figure I’d better say something or she might not call me back for a long time, and I’m kind of short on that time resource right now. “I have a favor to ask you. Talk to you soon, I hope.” I hang up before I can say anything that will scare her away.

 

Putting the phone down on my kitchen counter, I move into the living room to grab another empty moving box. I have more packing to do and a truck to fill up for the storage unit before I can take a break and eat dinner, so standing around looking at my email inbox and staring at my cell isn’t going to get my anywhere I need to be.

 

Listening to the radio, I pack the last few boxes, marking them with a red X as I sneak glances at my phone. Ring, you bastard, ring! It doesn’t listen to me; it just sits there, silently mocking me and my desperation. I grab another empty box, and another after that, and another…

 

A half hour later, after I’ve packed every last thing I have left to my name, my phone finally rings. I practically trip over my own feet to grab it. Leah’s name is on the screen, thank God. I take a couple deep breaths, trying to calm myself down so I can sound natural and not desperate. I can do this. I can find a place to live two days before I need it.

 

“Hello?” I hope like hell that the response on the other end isn’t going to be cold.

 

“Sarah? Is it really you?”

 

“Yep, it’s me all right. How are you?”

 

“Oh my god!! I’m so excited!! You called me at the perfect time!!”

 

A smile takes over my face. I never imagined such a warm welcome. “Really? Well, that’s awesome. Why, what’s going on?”

 

“Oh, my god, you have no idea. My life is totally crazy right now. But you said you needed a favor? What’s up? Are you okay? Is everything all right?”

 

Her obvious concern and warm tone has me nearly in tears. I’d been so strong until now. “I’m fine, I’m great. Well, okay, not great, but I’m good. Really good.” My voice starts going up higher and higher, and I can’t seem to stop it. “I just called because it’s been such a long time, and I’m moving out of my apartment, and I’m just … kind of being a free spirit right now and I was wondering if you have the space for a visitor maybe?” I cringe as I wait for her reaction. She’s going to hang up the phone, I know she is.

 

“Oh my god, that would be awesome!! You can come visit me? Oh, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day. When? When can you come? Are you leaving today? Where are you right now, anyway, are you still in Massachusetts?”

 

“Yes, outside of Boston, actually. I can be there in a couple days.”

 

“Fabulous. Perfect. Can’t wait. I have so much to tell you.”

 

I don’t want to get too excited over this call. It could still fall apart. “Are you sure you have room? I thought you had a little studio.”

 

“Oh, I have room, don’t you worry about that.”

 

Her laugh makes me wary. “So how have you been? What’s new in your life?”

 

“So many things. But how about we save all that for when you get here? It’ll be fun to catch up as you settle in.”

 

I shrug. It’s not like I have any other options. “Okay, if you say you have room, I guess I’ll come.”

 

The sound of her clapping comes over the line. “Yay! I’m so happy! Can’t wait to see you.”

 

“I guess I’ll need your address,” I say, grabbing a pen.

 

“Okay, are you ready? Do you have a pen?”

 

“Yep,” I say, resting the phone between my cheek and shoulder. “Go for it.”

 

“I’m at seven-twenty-five Fifth Avenue.”

 

The pen stops moving after I get the number down, and it refuses to continue writing.

 

“Fifth Avenue? As in the Fifth Avenue? Manhattan?”

 

She giggles. “That’s the one. I’m on the thirty-fifth floor. Just tell the doorman when you get here, and he’ll buzz me to let me know you’re in the lobby.”

 

I’m too stunned to really absorb this information. “You live on Fifth Avenue. I can’t believe it. You must have a lot of news to share.” The image of my silly, hippy friend Leah Carmichael living anywhere near Fifth Avenue won’t compute. Maybe she’s giving me her work address and she just doesn’t want to tell me the details over the phone.