He sends me a quick wave.
I don’t know how long I stand on that porch, watching him go, but it’s long enough that his car disappears around the corner, out of sight.
Finally, I have the energy to raise my hand and wave back.
Except he’s not there anymore.
He’s gone.
“I love you.”
Elliot: Hey you—what are you up to?
Anabelle: Rearranging some IKEA furniture I just bought and put together.
Elliot: Oh yeah? Like what?
[Anabelle Donnelly sent an attachment]
Elliot: You put that shelf together yourself???
Anabelle: Why are you saying it like that?! With all those questions marks? YE OF LITTLE FAITH.
Elliot: That thing is huge!
Anabelle: I love them. My friend said white bookshelves are hard to decorate, but I’m in love with these. I need more room because my mom just sent some books I had at her house.
Elliot: Don’t get too comfortable. You’re only there for two more semesters. You’re going to have to move all that shit out.
Anabelle: That’s what dads and friends with pickup trucks are for.
Elliot: You have a friend with a pickup truck?
Anabelle: Not yet, but I’m determined to find one.
Anabelle: Where are you now?
Elliot: I stopped in Indiana last night, so I’m somewhere near the Great Lakes. Have you ever seen Lake Michigan in the summer?
Anabelle: No, what’s it like?
Elliot: Like being on the ocean, along the east coast. Really fucking pretty. You’d love it.
Anabelle: Send me a picture before you get back in your car and keep driving.
[Elliot St. Charles sent an attachment]
Anabelle: Wow. You’re right, that does look like the ocean.
Elliot: That’s not what I’d really like to be looking at right now.
Anabelle: What would you rather be looking at right now?
Elliot: Your sleeping face on the pillow next to mine.
Anabelle: Don’t say things like that anymore.
Elliot: Sorry, I won’t.
Two weeks later
Elliot: This apartment sucks.
Anabelle: How so?
Elliot: It always sounds like the tenant in the unit upstairs is rearranging furniture in the middle of the night. I think he’s a med student working second shift at the hospital.
Anabelle: At least it’s not yelling and screaming. I once lived in a house with someone living in the basement, and she’d fight with her boyfriends all the time. Yeah, that’s right, I said boyfriends, as in multiple.
Elliot: I appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but the dude is still soooo fucking loud.
Anabelle: I can gladly say my new roommate is NOT. I can barely tell she’s here because, well, she’s barely ever here. It’s kind of a bummer—I thought Madison would be better company, thought we’d watch movies and crap.
Elliot: So a replacement Elliot?
Anabelle: Without the benefits, LOL
Elliot: Maybe she’ll come around more when school starts. Everyone is MIA in the summer because there’s nothing to do in town.
Anabelle: She was with me at the party last semester. You know the one…
Elliot: That party will be etched into my brain forever.
Anabelle: Because I humiliated myself???
Elliot: No, because you let me be there for you.
Anabelle: What do you mean?
Elliot: I didn’t realize it at the time, but I’d never felt so protective over anyone. That night was a first.
Anabelle: Seriously? But I was so drunk.
Elliot: Maybe, but I knew the reason why, and you looked so fucking pretty.
Anabelle: Despite being drunk?
Elliot: Yeah, despite you being drunk. And the morning after? Man, I thought you were so cute.
Anabelle: I was HUNG-OVER AF. The morning after was a train wreck. I wore the same clothes home.
Elliot: You did seem pretty embarrassed, but man were you cute.
Anabelle: Humiliated.
Elliot: Thank God there was no repeat performance.
Anabelle: OH! Changing gears! Did Dev tell you I’m still playing soccer with those guys? They’ve started playing once a week, so I go to the gym less.
Elliot: You guys are playing once a week? Damn, now you’re making me jealous. I could never get their lazy asses onto the field more than once a month.
Anabelle: I found a few more girls to join the team so I’m no longer outnumbered. **brushes dust off shoulders** The field is full of Devin’s drool. Plus, I think he likes me.
Elliot: Oh I bet he likes you.
Anabelle: Not like THAT, LOL. We’re bros.
Elliot: Bros my ass. He’s probably so fucking glad I’m gone.
Anabelle: Probably, LOL. I do catch him staring at my ass a lot.
Elliot: Tell him to knock that shit off.
Anabelle: Why? He’s not GRABBING it. He tries to hide it, but subtlety is not his forte, the poor guy. I bent over twice last night just to test the theory.
Elliot: Sometimes you’re a real fucking brat, do you know that, Donnelly?
Anabelle: You love it.
Elliot: I do.
Elliot: And I miss you.
Anabelle: I miss you, too.
Six weeks later
Friday, August 22nd
Dear Elliot,
I thought I’d email you instead of text because I told myself I’d stay off my phone until this midterm paper is done. So, I’m doing this the old-fashioned way, modern day snail mail…or maybe I’m sending you this letter because I’ve had a glass of wine tonight and am slightly buzzed and missing you more than I probably should or have any right to. Who knows, by the time I get to the end, I might delete it instead of hitting send.
Madison has been great to live with. She has a few friends who come hang out at our place, and I’m starting to consider them friends, too. She’s been waitressing all summer at Mad Dog Jacks, which I didn’t know served food. She says the tips are awesome, mostly because during the day, it’s barflies that come in, over-tipping because they’re drunk. I don’t know, maybe I’ll apply there. I have some nights free and could use the extra cash.
I finally met your old roommate Zeke at the fundraiser for the Big Brothers mentoring program—they moved up the date this year or I would have invited you to come along as my date. Zeke was with his girlfriend, Violet, and I sat next to her. She’s so sweet, I think I’m half in love with her myself. Zeke is so dark and broody and she’s so kind. They dote on each other—he bought her a purple sapphire necklace on a gold chain and hung it around her neck as they were walking out. Stopped her in the doorway, pulling her blonde hair back and kissing her on the neck before clasping it. It was almost painful to watch and made me miss you.
If you were here, I would have taken you. I wore a dark burgundy cocktail dress and heels. Lips were red. Madison put my hair in an up-do, so it was all very ooh-la-la, so fancy.
I don’t know what else to say without spilling my guts and making this awkward, and we’re both about to start school, but I will tell you this. If I close my eyes, I can see you standing shirtless in the kitchen, your skin tan from playing soccer with no shirt on.
Of course, this is the wine talking.
In the light of day, I’m strong and moving on, just like all the greatest love songs say to do.
It’s too bad I’ve taken them all off of repeat.
Love,
Anabelle.
Saturday, August 23rd
Anabelle,
Stop talking about me like I’m a ghost. I’m not dead, I’m in Michigan. I’ve read and reread your notes at least thirty times and decided to level the sobriety playing field, I’d do a few Jagerbombs before typing this message.
If you think Iowa is boring, you should come to Michigan. I hear they get buried in snow in winter, and the population here is a bustling 120k. It’s not even September and I’m already freezing my balls off.
I texted Dev and told him to stop staring at your ass and find someone new to lust after. He didn’t seem fazed and I know he enjoys riling me up, the fucking dickhead. He said you went and ordered a new pair of socks to cover your shin guards, yellow and blue stripes. Bet they’re adorable—you have the sexiest legs.
Dev was bragging about you, said they switched your position and tried playing you at forward. Why didn’t you tell me you scored two goals?