Vegas Knot (✔️) | Love Travels #1

Forty

My entire life is eaten up stopping my mother from doing things she isn't supposed to be doing. She absolutely refuses to let me listen to her doctor's orders, even going so far as to wait until I leave the room for some task or other before trying to get up to go to the bathroom on her own.

And as time goes on and she heals more, she's getting better at it.

But when the night comes and my mom is safely in bed, I have time to think about everything that happened with Enrique. I haven't been able to get ahold of him since I left three days ago, and I know he's busy, but something tells me this is more than that. This feels like avoidance.

I want nothing more than to storm back there and finish our conversation about why I'm walking on eggshells.

Actually, I want many things more than that, but if that's what it would take for him to pick up my calls again, I'd do it in a heartbeat.

Distracting myself seems like the best bet while I'm stuck here keeping my mom in check, so I grab my purse and make a mental list of everything we need from the store. But I don't make it all the way out the door before I crash into a pile of things and a note written in a hand I'd never mistake. It's Enrique's curly B and his n squished into the c of my name: Bianca.

My eyes dart around, hoping that I'll catch a glance of him. But there's no movement anywhere on my suburban street. My heart is racing in my chest, breathing becomes more difficult as I flip open the note.

He's finally talking to me.

Bianca,

I don't know how long you plan to be at home, so I thought you might want your things back.

Your husband,

Enrique.

He thought I might want my stuff back? I don't want my stuff back, I want him here!

I turn back into the house, the stability I'd carefully built up around my body crumbling as I slump down onto the floor.

Some chaotic version of myself takes over and dial Enrique's number without really thinking.

Three rings.

Half way through the third ring, the line clicks and my brain takes over, throwing the phone across the room and onto the couch.

What am I doing? I can't be calling him right now!

And it's still connected. Why did I throw it without disconnecting the call?

I don't know what I'm hoping for as I sprint across the room and dive roll onto the couch, flipping the phone to speaker.

It's not him, though.

Well, it is him talking, but it's just voicemail.

My heart falls.

I wasn't expecting that.

And then the voicemail beeps and I'm supposed to say something, but I can't.

I can't hang up, but I also can't bring myself to say anything. So I just stare down at it, saying absolutely nothing and shaking head to toe. What is there to say? How can I-?

"It's me," I squeak out finally. And then the line goes dead.

Did he get it? Did I get cut off?

My head swims and I lay down on the floor, trying to stop the room from spinning. What am I doing?

Sitting bolt upright makes my head spin again, but it's so very clear.

What am I doing? Why am I sitting around here on my butt instead of marching back there and telling him not to give up on me so easily. I'm worth it.