Sam--short for Samantha, if you please--has been living in Crawley, Maine for about a year in her grandfather's lighthouse. A promising advertiser, she works from home and the local coffee shop, where she gets her daily hot chocolate fix. For her, l...
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9:14
I was sitting outside again; Evelyn had gone to bed early, exhausted from the excitement. I'd checked my phone after pie, he hadn't even opened my text. Something must've come up.
But in all honesty, knowing that something probably came up didn't make a difference with the nerves I was feeling.
Did he lose interest now that we're not together? Did he mull this whole relationship over and find things that just won't work? Did he realize how much of a frikkin' weirdo I am? Will he even want to come pick me up Sunday? Am I gonna get ghosted? Will I have to beg Sally to leave her shift early and pick me up?
Those thoughts, and others like them, drifted through my head as I tried to focus on scrolling through mind-numbing social media.
9:26
My phone vibrates and I jump. Not even glancing at the contact name, I press answer.
"Hello?"
"Sammy? Is that you?"
I sighed, holding a palm against my beating chest.
"Yeah, it's me. What's up Andrei?"
He sighed, too. His sounded long and tired, and my eyebrows furrowed a bit after hearing it through the phone.
"It's been a long day."
I perked up.
"Really? What happened?"
He sighed again, and I could just picture him rubbing the bridge of his nose and scrunching his eyebrows together in exasperation.
"Mikhail and the others threw a surprise Thanksgiving party. He said it was to 'learn how to human,' but it was a disaster."
I relaxed against the back of the bench, wrapping my free arm around a propped knee, comforted by the warm, Russian lilt of his accent.
"How was it a disaster? I'm sure it wasn't that bad."
"It was!"
And he proceeded to tell me how absolutely horrible Russian selkies are at celebrating last-minute Thanksgiving.
I laughed, I cried, it moved me Bob. (A/N: Veggie Tales reference, anybody?)
I learned, though, that vodka should not be imbibed while trying to prep a turkey. A great photo opportunity, but a horrible decision.
During a lull in the story, I checked my phone for the time.
10:35
"Hey, isn't it past midnight there?"
"Mm-hmm." He even sounded tired.
"What are you still doing up?! Go to bed!"
"But I wanted to talk to you." He whined. I could practically see the pout on his face. I couldn't help the smile that stretched over my face.
