Bellamy's Redemption

Bellamy’s plane arrives 5:25 pm.

Limo to deliver him here.

Dinner at Fresh Basil at 7 pm.

Show to make dinner reservations for us.

Mom and Dad to stay at Park Hyatt Hotel.

Bellamy to stay at Waldorf Astoria. I may stay with him, if we both choose.

Bellamy and I to have brunch next day with my parents at 10 AM.

Bellamy to depart at 4 PM.

When would I like my parents to leave? Let Christine know ASAP and she will book it.

When I got off the phone it occurred to me that I hadn’t checked any of my messages for months. Now that my phone was charged and back to life, I was excited to find out what I had missed. Right away I saw I had only fifteen regular messages. Sure, there were over two hundred text messages, but for the most part, they count so little compared to real messages. I felt like a total loser. How could I only have fifteen messages in months? Perhaps the older messages have self-deleted, I told myself, on account of how old they are. But that didn’t turn out to be the case.

The very first one was from my former boss. She was not happy. In fact, she sounded irate. I deleted it without even getting through the first sentence. Her tension seemed foreign to me now that I hadn’t worked in months. I could still relate to feelings of sadness, or boredom, or nervousness, but that unique, work-related stress that people can catch seemed downright silly to me now. Really, could anything be worse than having a job? I remembered that if I married Bellamy, I probably wouldn’t need one.

The next message was from Pete. It was from the day I left: “Hey, Emma. Wow. I can’t believe you’re gone. I can’t believe you’re doing this. But hey. It’s okay. I’m not even worried. Really. I think we have something really good. I think you’ll be back. I miss you.”

I shook my head, hating myself. Why had I ever gone away? How had I let it go so far? I was so confused. The thing about Bellamy was that he wasn’t so bad. He could be sexy and he was really nice. And rich. Athletic. Honestly, if it wasn’t for Pete, I’d probably think he was the best thing ever. But compared to Pete, he was missing something. Or maybe it was me. Maybe the problem was that I was missing something when I was with Bellamy that came naturally when I was with Pete.

I listened to the next message. It was Pete again, from later that same night: “Hi. I miss you. I really, really miss you. I don’t want you to do this. I want you to come back. I’m not okay with this. I should have said so, but, you know, I’m saying so now. I just, I had to say that.” Then he took a deep breath and I thought he was going to say more, but he didn’t. Had it really just been a couple of months ago that he’d wanted me, and now he had simply moved on and forgotten me? I rubbed my temples, realizing how majorly I’d blown my life.

“No, no, no,” I corrected myself aloud. “Life with Bellamy is going to be great. Amazing. Seriously, focus on the future, not the past.”

The next message was from my mom. It was from the next day. I braced myself for a sappy message but instead I got this: “Hi Bug. Listen, your dad and I thought those sheets you got us for Christmas were nice, but I’m not sure about purple. I didn’t take them out of the package because then they probably won’t let me take them back, but I can tell they’re not going to match our walls. So I guess we’d like the receipt if you hung onto it. Let me know. Okay, kiddo. Bye.” I picked at my cuticles, depressed.

Then she called right back and left another message: “I forgot you went on that show! Don’t worry about those sheets. We’ll use them in the guest room. I’ve wanted to make that room purple. Good luck! Give me a call!”

The next two messages were Pete, both simply stating that he was thinking of me. They were still from way back during my first week away. It might as well have been years ago instead of just months ago. Again, I reminded myself that I had Bellamy and wasn’t I lucky. Perhaps I should delete all the remaining messages without even listening to them. But of course I couldn’t do that.

Next was a message from Betsy, from about halfway through my time away: “I thought maybe you’d already been sent home from that show and were hiding out, and maybe I could catch you. I really, really want to get a drink and complain about my day. I got fired. Fired. Can you imagine? I’m so ashamed. Not that you care. You probably won’t even want to be my friend anymore. You probably think you’re too good for me. I think my company is going under, so that’s good news, considering I hate them all now. Oh my God, speaking of stuff like that, Rachel’s company folded. It just happened last week. I think she got some kind of severance package, but still. So I guess the three of us are unemployed losers together. Or maybe not. Maybe you’re a winner. Who knows? Anyway, I miss you. If you’re secretly there, please call me. I won’t tell anyone. I swear.” I wanted to call her right back, but I refrained, somehow.

And then, apparently the whole world had forgotten about me. There were no messages for weeks on end, until the barrage of recent calls, all from the show, all about plans and schedules for my Meet-the-Fam date. While I was traveling the world, feeling like my whole life before filming Bellamy’s Redemption was nothing but a distant dream, apparently everyone else had been feeling the same way about me.

I got out of bed and stretched, trying to figure out what to do with myself. It was late afternoon. In twenty-four hours, I’d be about to introduce Bellamy to my parents. To say I was dreading it was really far too strong of a description. It was more like I just wished I could put it off indefinitely. It was then that I realized I had to talk to Pete. Even if he was happily shacking up with the pillow fight hipster. I picked up my phone and called him, praying she wasn’t nearby.

“Hello,” he answered after just a couple of rings.

“I got my phone back,” I told him.

“So I see,” he said.

“Are you alone?” I asked.

“Uhh. Not really.”

“Oh,” I said. I wished I could backtrack. Calling him had been a terrible mistake. “Oh. Well, good. That’s good.”

“Why is it good?” he asked.

“Just cuz. I mean, it’s not good. It’s more like, you know, that’s fine.”

“Alright,” he said.