the fall • s.m.

53 • twenty

I held the phone up to my ear and leaned against the wall of my hotel room. "I thought you called me at midnight New York time so we could just avoid this? It's 3 A.M. here, Shawn."

"I know, but it's officially midnight in Los Angeles, so I figured I should just call again," he told me. "Oh no, you weren't sleeping, were you?"

I chuckled. "No, of course not. I just don't want you to stay up for the sake of calling me. You should go to sleep," I told him.

"Says you," he replied, making me smile a bit. "Anyways, I have a feeling I won't be sleeping too much tonight anyways."

"Why do you have such a feeling?" I asked him.

I could picture him giving me a dismissive shrug. "I just do."

"Whatever you say."

There was a bit of silence between us for a moment. I could hear his steady breathing. It was comforting.

"So, you're officially not a teenager anymore. The big two-oh. How's that feel?" he asked me.

"The same," I replied with a sigh. "Twenty is a pretty sucky age to be. You don't get to be a cool teenager anymore, but you still can't drink, and you still get treated like a baby by your parents. It's a lose-lose-lose."

"It's a great age to be. Twenty is probably going to be the best year of your life," he told me, and I chuckled.

"I hope you're right," I told him, shaking my head.

"So? Are you excited, like, at all?" he asked me.

"Yeah, I am. A little. But it sucks that I don't get to spend my birthday with you. I mean, what's the fun in a birthday if you're thousands of miles away from the one person you want to be with for it?" I told him. I was in New York for the night. I did a benefit concert here last night, and tomorrow night, I have an event with a company I work with that I have to go to.

Get to go to, my bad.

On my birthday.

It's ok though. I'm not big on birthday celebrations anyways, so, as awful as it sounds, I'm not too upset about being away from home on my birthday. That way no one can make a big deal about my birthday.

"Come on, Margot. I told you I couldn't come, and you still wanted to go, which is totally fine by me. But it's not my fault," he told me, a hint of distress in his voice. He always seems a bit irritable when I'm away. I could tell by his voice that he was focused on something else that wasn't this phone call.

"Chill; I didn't say it was. I'd just rather be with you," I told him. I can see him now; he was running his fingers through his dark hair, maybe staring blankly out the window, maybe looking up at the ceiling as he laid in his bed. His mind was probably racing, trying to think of some way to make this up to me, even though I completely brought it upon myself.

He sighed. "I'm sorry, babe," he told me. "I wish I could be there, but I have —"

I interjected quickly. "No, don't say sorry. It's all on me. I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" he asked, then he let out another sigh. He started speaking again before I could say I was sure. "What kind of boyfriend am I, letting my own girlfriend go away on her birthday? Not even going with her? God, I am the worst."