It Happened on Maple Street

I hadn’t invited him to do so.

Sick to my stomach, I paced again, clutching my phone to my chest. I just couldn’t do this. It was time to get my life together, not fall apart. I’d promised myself I’d face my challenges head on.

How was I doing?

An e-mail had just come in. Thankful for the distraction, I went to see who’d contacted me. Please let it be one of my writer friends. Someone with a message for TTQ. Someone who would inadvertently bring TTQ rushing to Tara’s rescue.

It was junk mail.

And I glanced at the text message on my phone.

Wow, my computer has smoke rolling out of it! Do you IM? This may be easier for talking. Txt is not so good for me—man fingers!

My fingers flew over the tiny keyboard on my phone.

Yes I IM. And if you’re screwing with me and you really grew up to be some lascivious jerk who runs around out to get what you can get, then I’m really going to hate you.

I hit send and regretted the action the second I’d pushed the button. I was scared to death. An eighteen-year-old nerd who’d never had a date.

I signed onto IM on my computer.

And had an e-mail from Tim.

Ouch! You will say anything to break my heart again! K, I’m signed on to my IM . . . Now what?

He was right there, in real time—not an e-mail on the computer when I happened to get to it. Or he did.

I didn’t want to type sentences back and forth like teenagers. I didn’t have the patience for game playing. He’d asked me to call several times. It was obvious he wasn’t going to be presumptuous and call me. He was letting me make the choice.

Biting my lip to help control the trembling, I dialed the number I’d been silently reciting for three days, left my seat, and paced. I wasn’t going to be able to hear him if he answered. My heart was pumping blood so fast, the roaring was deafening.

“Hello?”

Oh my God. My whole body went weak. I almost dropped the phone again.

This wasn’t some strange man on the phone. Or on the other end of e-mails. It was a voice I completely recognized.

“Hi.”

“I can’t believe you actually called.”

“I know. I can’t believe it either.” I was shaking. Blinking back tears. And grinning. Hugely.

“What’s going on?”

“Not much. Just taking a break from the writing.”

“How’s that going today?”

“Okay. Tough. What are you doing?”

“Making dinner.”

Around my desk again, I pushed aside my chair, slid down to the floor and underneath my desk, leaning back against the inside wood. There was only so much exposure a girl like me could take.

Twenty-One

FORTY-FIVE MINUTES LATER, TIM AND I HAD NOT YET hung up. And there was still so much to say. Everything to talk about. I wanted to know the color of his socks.