Texts From Him || Timothée Chalamet

23

She sucked in an involuntary ragged sob. The women driving caught Winnie's eye in the rearview. "Oh honey, what's it about?" she inquired empathetically. Winnie looked at the lady's round brown eyes as she fought for words.

"It's my mom. She has cancer."

"Oh! Such a horrible thing, it–ah... took my uncle last fall. Bless his soul," her brows furrowed as she remembered her relative. "You find that out just now?"

"No," Winnie shook her head, "she's had it a while. She was fine this morning—really great, actually. But she's just called me. She's getting an ambulance." Saying it out loud hit her with the more reality. There had been scares before, but manageable ones. No ambulances until now.

"I'm so sorry, honey," she glanced at Winnie again in the rearview. "I'll get you home A-S-A-P. I know a few short cuts out here. The parking garages," she shook her finger as if telling off a child, "they spit you out on the next block, no lights."

Winnie frowned. "Is that allowed? I don't want–"

"Girl, I've driven in this city for thirteen years. You best believe your car moves faster when it's not on the damned roads," she chortled at her own comment. Winnie guessed that answer would have to suffice.

Winnie nodded, an appreciative tear running down her cheek. "What's your name?"

"Kiyana, honey. What's yours?"

"Winnie."

It wasn't long before they reached the the first said parking garage. They disappeared beneath a building, and remerged at the next block. It was like teleporting, Winnie thought, (by New York City standards). Incredible. She might get their before the ambulance would her mother to the hospital. Her stress eased.

"Thank you so much," Winnie said again. She'd already thanked Kiyana twice.

"It's no problem, honey. I'll treat an emergency," she spoke slowly, seriously, "like an emergency."

Winnie's phone vibrated in her hands. She flipped the device over. A message from Timothy.
—

T:
Winnie :( Are you with her? Can I do anything?
I'm here.

Winnie:
Omw to her now. I'll text you later.

—
Her reply was short and sweet and she felt out of character sending it. She was irked.

What does here even mean?

She shoved her phone into her bag as they dipped into another garage.