Chapter 13 - Same Time Next New Year's

Liz tries to keep asking questions and offering her help. But when I stop answering her, she slowly gets off the bed, and I can hear her moving around my kitchen. The sound of my coffee machine being turned on tells me she’s making me a cup of coffee.

I just stare up at my ceiling, my eyes following all the little bumps that I never really noticed before. I’m not sure who invented popcorn ceilings, but I have to admit that I’m not a fan. Why not just paint it normally? The bumpy texture makes me uncomfortable.

How can this be happening? I think to myself.

How did I go from feeling the best I have in so many years to more defeated than I ever felt before—even while going through a terrible divorce? Was it all a dream? Have I finally lost my mind? If Liz didn’t bring it up and remember him, I might have convinced myself that I must have made it all up.

Footsteps approach, and my eyes flick forward to Liz walking slowly towards me holding my favorite yellow mug. “Can you drink some coffee?” she asks. “I’m about to call Mom and Dad because you’re scaring me.”

I groan as I pull myself into a sitting position, but my shoulders stay hunched over in defeat. “Don’t do that.” I reach my hands out and accept the coffee.

I bring it to my lips as she says, “Careful it’s really hot—” But I sip it anyway, letting the coffee burn my mouth and then my throat as it goes down. Her eyes stay big and round as she adds, “Okay, then.”

“He’s going to think I changed my number,” I say, thinking out loud. Realizations are starting to form. “Or that I blocked him. He’s going to think I ghosted him.” My heart resumes its cracking.

“Maybe he’ll just, I don’t know…” Liz trails off, her mouth slowly moving wordlessly as I know she’s trying to think of what to say. “Maybe he…” She stops and looks at me with sadness again. “I’m so sorry, Jo.”

“What if he’s worried?” I whisper. “He has no way of even searching for information to find out that I’m okay.” I close my eyes tightly. “Why didn’t we tell each other our last names?” I say to myself.

“I’m sure you were both being, you know, cautious…” she offers helpfully.

“Yeah,” I sigh in defeat. “Look what good that did us.”

“Okay, so it’s going to suck,” she starts, “but you make it through the year, and meet him next New Year’s. Did you say where you were going to meet?”

I laugh dryly. “Yes.” I don’t feel like mentioning the fact that our “meeting spot” was so vague that I wouldn’t even know where to start trying to find this phone booth on 32nd street.

“Well that’s good news,” she says with a smile. “Silver lining, Jo!”

“Who is going to wait around a whole year for someone they think ghosted them?” I say, more to myself than her. “And someone they barely know and only talked to for one day.” I groan before adding, “By accident!”

“Do you think he felt the same connection that you felt?” she asks.

I think for a moment, because I know he did. “When we were talking, it was like the world and the noise around us faded away. It was just us—two strangers with our thoughts, our laughter, and our feelings aligned like pieces of a freakin’ puzzle.” Liz’s gaze is glued to mine. I’ve never seen her focused so intently on something or someone before. “It wasn’t something that felt forced, it just…was. I just knew we were on the same wavelength, without even needing to ask. I felt it in my soul, Liz.” My voice shakes. I close my eyes. But can a connection that was formed by accident in one day last a whole year without any contact? A whole year after you lose communication with the person and you have no idea why? I whisper, “There’s no way that he’s going to wait around for someone he talked to on the phone for one day.”

Liz narrows her eyes at me questioningly. “Wait, texted or talked?”

“Talked.”

“You two talked on the phone?” she asks in disbelief.

“We freakin’ video called.” My eyes wide in emphasis.

“What?” she cries, her voice several octaves higher than usual.

“For hours, Liz.” I sigh. “For hours.”

She curses under her breath. “This sucks so bad.”

I grunt in agreement. “This is all your fault,” I say, my voice deadpanned.

Her head whips to mine. “How the hell is it my fault?”

“If I didn’t have to go rescue your drunk ass in the middle of the night, I would’ve never lost my phone,” I accuse. I know I’m being unfair. But I can’t help both the irrational and rational feelings at war, coursing through me.

She sputters. “I’m sorry! How was I supposed to know?”

I groan again. “It’s not your fault, not really.”

“Now I feel even worse,” she almost whimpers.

I reach the hand not holding my coffee cup to grab her knee and give her a reassuring squeeze. “I shouldn’t have said that. I’m glad you called me. Always call me when you need help.”

She gives me a small smile, but I know she’s still feeling guilt, and I feel terrible for planting that in her. She puts her hand over mine and says, “I’m so sorry. This is just so unfortunate on so many levels.”

I nod in agreement, and take another sip of my coffee.

“What if we go to New York?” Liz suggests excitedly.

I pin her with a glare. “And do what, Liz?”

“Look for him!”

“Are you even aware of how big that city is?” I ask her.

“It’s one city. It can’t be that bad,” she insists.

I nod my chin towards her phone. “Look it up.”

She picks her phone up and starts tapping on the screen. I watch her and see the moment of realization as her eyes grow round. I snicker.

“How are there over eight million people in that one city?” she asks incredulously.

“If we had no luck finding him online, do you really think we’ll have luck just walking around like two idiot tourists asking people if they know a man named Leo?”

She grumbles as her face falls. “I guess you’re right.” She sighs. “Well there’s only one thing that we can do,” she says seriously.

I look at her questioningly. “What?”

“Hope and pray more than we ever have before, that for the next three hundred and sixty-four days, he holds on to that connection, and he shows up.”