A minute later, the voicemail notification appeared. Against my better judgment, I pressed play. "Hey, it's me." Jen's voice, tentative, almost casual, like she was testing the temperature of a bath. "So that thing with Mark was stupid.
I don't know why I made such a big deal out of it. Call me when you're done pouting, okay? We should talk." I deleted it and went back to my sandwich. The second voicemail arrived later that night.
Different number, same voice. This time, the casual tone was gone. "Liam, please. I know you're getting these. I know you're blocking me.
Just Just call me back. Something happened. Mark isn't He's not who I thought he was. I need you. Please.
I'm begging you." I stared at my phone for a long moment. Then I blocked that number, too. The third voicemail came the following morning. She was crying now, the words tumbling out between ragged breaths.
"I made a mistake, okay? A really, really bad mistake. He asked me to leave, Liam. He woke up and looked at me like I was nothing and told me he had a real date coming over and I needed to be gone before breakfast. Before breakfast.
I was still in his bed and he was already erasing me." "Is this what you wanted to hear? That you were right? Fine. You were right.
Now, please Please just pick up." I didn't pick up. I sat there in the morning quiet, sunlight slanting through my kitchen window, and let the voicemail play out into silence. Some part of me expected to feel vindicated or angry or something, but what I mostly felt was tired. A deep, bone-level exhaustion, like my body had been running a marathon I hadn't signed up for and had finally crossed the finish line.
I thought about calling her back. Not to reconcile. God, no. But to say something cutting. Something that would make her feel even a fraction of what I'd felt in that cafe.
But I didn't because calling her back, even to hurt her, would have meant she still had power over me. And I was done giving her power. Instead, I kept rebuilding. Quietly, methodically. I rearranged my apartment the way I wanted it without anyone else's preferences in mind.
I put my books back on the shelf she'd cleared for her decorative candles. I started cooking meals I liked, not meals she approved of. I went for long walks in the evening. No phone, no music, just the sound of my own footsteps on the pavement. I wasn't happy, not yet, but I was something adjacent to peace.
And peace, after what I'd been through, felt like a victory. The silence lasted two more days. Then the flying monkeys arrived. I was at work when my desk phone rang. Internal call, someone had been transferred through.
I picked up without thinking. Liam, it's Rachel. Rachel was Jenna's best friend. They'd known each other since college. I'd never been her biggest fan.