Ghosts (A Christian Yelich Story)

Chapter Forty-One: Under the Table

Go Brewers!

***

It was 2:00 in the morning when a text sounded off on my phone. I groaned and moved one of my dogs out of the way so I could grab the device off my nightstand.

Christian: Hey, beautiful, I miss you. Everything about you. Wish you were here. I know I could make you happy.

I returned my phone to the nightstand, buried my head face-first into my pillow, and then dramatically pounded my fist against it. After my minor freak out, I took a deep breath to recover and reached for my phone again.

"Don't text him back," Hannah's groggy voice interrupted my plan from the other side of the bed. I had forgotten she was staying here, so she genuinely startled me.

"How do you know who texted me?"

"Oh, come on, you just punched your pillow. I know it's him. What did he say?" She was stern, but unmistakably curious.

I recited Christian's text verbatim back to her and then sighed deeply. Maybe he could make me happy . . . He probably could – at least for a little while. Until he hurt me. Or I hurt him. And everything turned sour and sad and awful.

"Only reply if you actually want to start something with him. Otherwise, ignore it. Don't give him false hope. That'd be unfair to both of you. I'm pretty sure those feelings from him are very real and very raw."

I knew she was right, but ignoring him was painful. I missed him more than I expected I would – to the point I felt heavy pressure in my chest. I guess really getting to know someone by living with them for two weeks upon first meeting and then cutting them off entirely when you so obviously developed feelings should be a little heartbreaking, right? Right.

With Hannah's encouragement, I deleted the conversation and put my phone away, but the text still crippled my mind as I tossed and turned into the night.

I could make you happy.

***

I poked at my oatmeal at Malibu Farm Restaurant while Hannah just stared at me as if I were her edgy teenage daughter who was having an emotional breakdown in front of her very eyes. "I'm fine," I informed her as I scooped a single blueberry with my spoon. "I just feel a little sick from all that sugar yesterday."

"Convenient excuse, Annie. What do you need from me to help you get through this? I don't even know if you were this shaken up after catching Asher with Veronica and calling off your engagement. I'm worried."

"Seriously, I'll be okay. Just stay with me again tonight. Being alone isn't going to help me any. I'd just partake in regrettable decision making and probably end up in his bed later. Also, I realize it's suuuuuuuper lame and needy that I'm forcing a working professional on my payroll to stay at my house and take care of my emotional bullshit, but I just trust you and only you when it comes to my relationships." After my hyper anxious word vomit, I finally got around to putting the single blueberry in my mouth, but swallowing it made my stomach even more upset. I pushed the whole bowl of oatmeal away from me.

"You're my best friend, Annie. I mean, the salary is a nice bonus so I can eat and pay bills, but you'd be my best friend regardless." At that moment, Hannah's eyes got wide, and she motioned her hand under the table and then whispered, loudly, "Get under the freaking table NOW!"

"Are you serious?" I whispered back.

"Just do it. Please." She sounded fairly desperate, so, even though I had no idea what was going on, and even though I felt absolutely ridiculous and hoped no one saw, I listened to her demand and slid my body under the table.