Unforgiven(20)

“What if I don’t want to?”
“What if you don’t have a choice?”
 

 
I close the front door and press my forehead against the doorframe. I still expect to walk through the front door to find Lindsay spread out on the couch with her magazines and a diet Coke. That giant smile she’d give me every time I walked in the door made my day, no matter how bad the day had been. I still hear her voice say, “Hey, babe.” She always called me babe. No other woman will ever be able to call me that… that is Lindsay’s name for me.
My cell phone chimes in my pocket, but I ignore it, as usual. The clock on the wall tells me that the Braves game is about to start. Nothing sounds better at this moment than losing myself in a game of baseball and a few beers. Walking toward the kitchen, I kick off my tennis shoes along the way and toss my phone onto the couch as it chimes again.
Opening the fridge, I find a foil-covered glass dish with a sticky note on it. “Lasagna. Eat. Call us. Reagan.” I smile at the note and pull the dish out of the fridge and set it on top of the stove. Reagan continues to take it upon herself to treat me like an orphaned child. As much as I find it annoying at times, I also don’t know what I’d do without her. Reaching back into the fridge, I pull out a bottle of beer and pop off the top, tossing the cap into the kitchen sink. Pre-heating the oven, I place the dish inside, setting the timer for forty-five minutes. I can’t remember the last time I cooked for myself. Lindsay did all the cooking; even when she would work evenings, she’d have a huge meal waiting for me when I got home. I always felt guilty and offered to help her, but she insisted on cooking and I didn’t argue with her over it.
Throwing myself down onto the couch, I position a throw pillow under my arm and push the power button on the remote control. Changing the channels, I find the baseball game and prop my feet on the coffee table. Some semblance of normalcy creeps over me for the first time in weeks, except I realize this is my new normal—alone.
The screen on my phone lights up, pulling my attention away from the game. The screen flashes the two text messages I’ve missed, but it’s the background screen I fixate on, a picture of Lindsay sitting on my lap at Landon and Reagan’s engagement party. Her blue eyes shine against the royal blue dress she’s wearing, her long, blonde hair falling in waves over her bare shoulders. She’s petite, small in my lap. My long arms wrap around her waist, holding her close to me—an embrace that says I’d never let her go.
I swipe my finger over the screen lock, opening my phone. I tap the contacts icon and slide my finger over Lindsay’s name. A small photo of her blowing a kiss to me pops up on the screen and a smile tugs at my lips. I pause, looking at the screen, at her face, at her name staring at me and, without a second thought, I tap the phone number and wait—and wait—and wait. By the fourth ring, I know she’s not going to answer. Just as I pull the phone away from my ear, I hear her faint voice. “Matt?”
“Linds?” I ask, unsure if I’m imagining this.
“Hi,” she says quietly.#p#分页标题#e#
“Hi,” I say back, my heart beating rapidly as I scramble to sit up. “I didn’t expect you to answer,” I admit. She exhales loudly and pauses before she answers.
“I’m glad you called. I miss you.” And those three little words break me. I miss you.
“I miss you too.” It’s a silent plea, my final resolve breaking.
We sit in silence, letting the weight of those words sink in. Weeks of silence, stubbornness, and anger lifted by the admission of those three words I needed to hear so badly. There are so many questions I have for her. How is she doing? Does she like Arizona? So much I want to know—but I’ll take sitting in silence on the phone with her, listening to nothing else but her faint breath if that’s all she can offer me.
“Matt?”
“Hi. I’m here.”
“Talk to me. Tell me a something funny. Tell me anything.” The pitch in her voice rises before it breaks. She’s crying. I can hear her sniffles and envision her chin quivering. My girl is alone, across the country, and hurting. I search for anything to tell her. There is so much I want to say, but now is not the time.
“I don’t have anything funny to share,” I muster, clearing my throat and trying to contain my own emotions. “I saw your brother and Reagan. Their house is insane, Linds.” I pause, waiting for her to respond, but she doesn’t. “You should call them. They miss you and want to hear how you’re doing.”