Chapter 16 - Same Time Next New Year's

“Are your toes as numb as mine are?” Liz whimpers.

“Worse,” I tell her, still walking. At least now we’re walking away from the crowd, which helps us move faster. But I feel like our chances of finding this thing get slimmer and slimmer.

11:42 p.m.

Oh my God. If he showed up at all, there’s no way he waited this long. There’s just no way.

So I say, “Liz, there’s no way that he’s there.”

“Ah!” she barks to scold me. “None of that negativity here. Mr. Wrong Number is there waiting for you. I know it. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

Every bone in my body is begging me to be still. I think the only reason I haven’t frozen to death yet is because I keep moving—against my body’s will.

“Holy shit,” Liz says suddenly.

“What?” I gasp.

“What’s that up there?” she says, pointing several yards in front of us.

It’s hard to see anything in the dark, even with all of the street lights and building lights around us. And there are still huge crowds of people weaving in and out of us, most of them inebriated. I squint, trying to see what she’s talking about. I can’t see too well, but we keep moving towards it.

As we inch closer and closer, I make out a large rectangular shape on the sidewalk.

Is this it?

Is it possible?

It feels like my heart is going to tear free from my chest at any moment.

We somehow increase our speed with the zero amount of energy we currently have. But we get closer and closer.

I let out a breathy cry, “Liz…”

“That looks like a damn phone booth to me, Jo,” Liz says in a high pitched voice.

I look around me. There’s people all around us, coming in and out of shops and bars and restaurants. There’s a rowdy group of guys drinking beers outside while singing some awful song at the top of their lungs. A few couples use the standing tables in the space outside the bar, enjoying drinks while somehow able to function in this weather. The streetlights aren’t as bright as they could be, but it’s enough to grant us some sense of sight out here.

There’s people all around the ‘maybe phone booth.’ We get closer and closer until there is absolutely no denying the fact that this is, in fact, a phone booth.

“This has to be it,” I say as we finally reach it. It stands a couple of feet taller than me. It’s dark silver metal and covered with square glass windows. The white sign on the top says ‘phone’ but there are a few papers taped to it that says ‘out of order.’ I spin around and start looking at the faces around me, taking in all of the drastically different features while picturing that specific golden skin and deep dark eyes. That warm smile and even kinder expression. His face is burned into my brain. I couldn’t erase it even if I wanted to. I’ve tried so hard not to lose the memory I have of him. Because that’s all I have, and maybe that’s all I’ll ever have.

I turn one way and then turn the next, not seeing familiarities in any of the faces. I circle the booth several times while I continue scanning every single face I can see. When I make another circle around the booth I notice a body standing still amidst the whirring ones around it. My steps slow and my eyes narrow a bit as I focus on him.

Tanned face, dark eyes. Expression set in total disbelief.

I can’t see the color of his hair from under the hat he wears. But when I take in his features, going from his wide eyes to his pink nose and then his parted mouth, I know it’s him. He begins taking slow steps towards me, closing the distance between us. Finally.

It’s him.

He’s here.

He keeps walking in my direction and I finally ask, “Leo?”

His parted mouth forms a huge smile of pure disbelief. He confirms, “Jo.” He steps closer, his arms splayed out on either side a little bit. “You came.” He seems to breathe the words.

I give him a small smile. “I promised.” He lets out a quick laugh, shaking his head. “I can’t believe you’re here,” I whisper in shock.

“Me?” he spits with a laugh. “I can’t believe you’re here—in New York!”

“Me either.” I laugh nervously. “Leo, last year—” I quickly start to explain. “New Year’s Eve, well I guess technically New Year’s Day…but I fell asleep after talking to you, and then my bozo of a sister called me a few hours later, drunk out of her mind asking for me to pick her up—” I point and look over my shoulder to Liz who is standing just behind me, frozen in place—figuratively and possibly literally—looking at us with the same shock that is written on his face.

“It’s true. It’s all my fault,” she says quickly, one of her hands lifting in a stiff wave. I turn back to Leo.

Leo.

He’s right in front of me. He’s so close I could reach out and touch him.

“But some time between me getting out of my car to get her and getting back to my apartment, I lost my phone.” I look at him while I ramble. But I can’t slow down or even stop to arrange the words in a more comprehensible order because I’ve been needing to say these words to him for 364 days. They’ve been building and building, desperate to be released. His eyes remain wide and fixed solely on me. “I think it was stolen. But my phone provider said recovering my number could be risky because of scammers getting into my personal information and bank accounts. So I panicked and obviously followed their instructions. They shut my phone down, and I had to get a new number. But I’m an idiot, and I never sync my devices or back anything up to the cloud so I lost your number. And I had no idea how to get back in contact with you.” I finish with a gasp, out of breath. His eyes bounce back and forth between mine, the ghost of a smile across his face which is still one of disbelief.

“This all happened that very next morning,” I add.

He shakes his head. “When you weren’t answering my texts, I tried calling and it said your number was no longer in service. I thought you must have gotten spooked and maybe blocked me to feel more comfortable,” he says, his breath dancing between the two of us. “I hoped maybe you would come around eventually. Because even though basic logic and all of the people in my life telling me otherwise, I knew in my gut that you didn’t just ghost me. I knew it.”

“I didn’t ghost you,” I breathe.

“I know,” he says confidently, smiling. “I can’t believe you’re here in front of me right now,” he lets out a huff of air, his breath visibly swirling around him. “Do you know how many Joanna’s there are in this country, Jo?”

I let out a laugh, “No.”

“103,708.”

“Oh my God,” I laugh. He shakes his head, still overcome with shock. I say, “Did you know there are hundreds of family-owned Italian restaurants in New York City? And even more Leos.”

His grin grows. “You were trying to find me.”

“Of course. I tried so hard,” I admit. “But I had nothing to help me.” I breathe a sad laugh. “I don’t even know your last name.”

“It’s Rossi. Leo—or I guess, Leonardo Rossi—just in case you need it. I don’t even know where you’re from,” he exclaims.

“Massachusetts,” I tell him. “And my last name is Miller.”

He groans and throws his head back before bringing it down with a sigh. “I can’t believe you’re here. My mind cannot wrap around this reality right now.”

“We’ve been walking all over this damned city looking for the last phone booth left in America,” I tease and he lets out a loud laugh. “We’ve been looking for hours.” In response to my admission his eyes widen and he looks almost apologetic. I continue, “I’m realizing at this very moment that I don’t even know how terrible I probably look right now. I can’t feel anything, including my face. I think my toes are blue. And I probably have a bright red face that’s covered in both sweat and snot.”

He chuckles. “I can promise you, you look like the farthest thing from terrible. God, Jo, you’re beautiful.”

And maybe my face isn’t as red as I’m imagining, because when I feel blood rush to my cheeks his eyes dart down right away, watching the forming color. “There’s that blush,” he whispers, seemingly more to himself.

I laugh. “I think you’re a liar.”

“What did I tell you?” he smiles, teasing defensively.

“You’re too honest,” I remember and we laugh. “I can’t believe you waited over forty minutes out here in the cold.”

He lets out a breathy and embarrassed laugh and looks down at his feet. “I, uh,” he starts and looks back up at me. “I’ve been here all day.”