Mutual Beginnings (A New City Story) by Stefanie Simpson

Author:Stefanie Simpson [Simpson, Stefanie]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2019-06-24T00:00:00+00:00

birthday

My messages went unanswered. The first few days, I understood, but after that, it was harder to take. Silence had never been so hurtful.

It was a powerful weapon. Not that’s how he saw it, I’m sure, he wasn’t punishing me, but it felt that way.

I missed him.

At the end of April, my birthday approached, and it’d been three weeks since we’d spoken. Count them, three.

Ranjit kept pestering me to go out, and I kept saying no. The appeal of partying had evaporated. I volunteered for overtime and decided I was going to get back into history. I spent a Thursday evening at the Chadford Central Library. I hadn’t been for ages. It was a late opening, and I explored the reference section and chatted with the librarian at the counter. My phone buzzed on the table next to me while I was leafing through the Ecclesiastical court records from the 1820s and chuckling over the exploits of one vicar who kept fish in the font.

My stomach fell somewhere between my knees and toes. So much for putting my feelings behind me.

How are you? I wondered if he knew it was my birthday. Twenty-seven could kiss my cellulite. I sat back, ignoring it and read on about my dodgy vicar and his blessed aquarium. Only, my eyes kept wandering of their own volition to my phone. Rebellious annoying eyes.

He’d have to do better than that opener.

I shut the old book with care, leaving behind its mottled pages.

“We’ll be closing soon.” The sweet woman in a bright pink hijab and matching lipstick grinned at me.

“Thank you.” I packed up, realising it was already dark out and stretched before helping librarian gather the books on the cart she used.

I clipped out into the foyer, and the cool rushed me as the doors opened. New greens of the trees that lined the road under the yellow of the streetlights reminded me how much time had passed since I met him. Felt like a minute and forever.

When I got in my car, I sat there desperate to talk to him and desperate not to care as much. I didn’t reply, even as pain closed my throat.

At home, I changed and poured myself some wine, ferreting out some cake.

Four days and it was three years until thirty. My job was going well, finally, but what else? I wasn’t close to anyone, not that there’s anything wrong with that, for some people it’s preferable, but not me. I needed people. Weak.

“Fuck it.” Yeah, I’m fine.

Can I talk to you?

Sure.

He rang the moment it was sent. I stared at the phone for a second, trying not to throw up.

“Hi.”

“Let me say I wanted to apologise for my behaviour. I’m so embarrassed, and it’s taken too long to say I’m sorry. I am very sorry.”

“Thank you. You did nothing wrong.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sad you’ve not spoken to me for three weeks, but it’s not like you’re obliged to. No matter, though. As long as you’re okay. Look, I’m tired.”

“Hannah.”

I went rigid, forcing back my ridiculous emotions.

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