“Shay,” Ruthie says, grabbing my arm. “Shay.”
“I—oh my god.” The café disappears around me. I have tunnel vision, and it’s definitely not just the rosé. All I see is the microphone icon on my screen, and all I hear is Dominic’s voice. He sounds so natural on the air now, more than he ever has.
“But I messed up,” Dominic continues, and then breaks off with a half laugh that jolts my heart, gets it beating again. “I’ve always had a little stage fright, and unfortunately, I froze up when she needed me most. I wasn’t there for her, even after we’d promised to be a team. I’m here today to tell all of you that I’m so deeply sorry for the lie The Ex Talk was based on, but more than that, I’m sorry, Shay. I’m so incredibly sorry, and all I want is to talk to you again.”
This is really happening. Dominic, apologizing on the radio.
“It’s all over Twitter,” Ruthie says, holding her phone to my face, but I can’t process any of the text on it. “Apparently he was saying something about Beanie Babies earlier?”
“This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen,” Tatum says. “Or heard, I guess.”
“I don’t know if she’s listening,” Dominic is saying, “but I can’t think of another way to tell her how badly I screwed everything up. If she gives me a second chance, even if it’s one I don’t deserve, I will do whatever I can to make things up to her. And more than that . . . I need her to know that I love her. I’ve been in love with her since the island, maybe even before that. And I’m dying to tell her in person.”
Another voice comes on the radio, one I recognize as Marlene Harrison-Yates’. “And if you’d like to call in with a donation to keep Dominic on the air, to keep us going, that number is 206-555-8803, or you can donate online at KPPR.org.”
“Oh my god,” I say again, unsure if I know any other words. My first instinct is to turn it off, shut him down, ignore it all. Insist that he can’t sweet-talk his way back into my life. I close my eyes for a moment, trying to latch onto reality. “He’s still at the station. He’s still working for them. All of this is . . . wow, but it doesn’t change the fact that he took that job after they practically kicked me out.”
“Don’t you think you owe it to him to hear him out?” Ruthie says.
Deep down, I know she’s right. If there’s any chance of fixing things between us, I have to talk to him. “He’s still on the air. What should I do?”
“Go down there and tell him you’re madly in love with him?” she suggests. “I mean, just an idea.”
“I can’t just go down there. I quit, remember? They practically fired me.” With trembling hands, I pick up my phone. “I’ll—I’ll call.” I have no idea what I’m going to say, but it’s the only option that seems to make sense to my soupy brain right now.
The number is practically part of my DNA at this point, though I’ve never actually called it. Still, I’m so rattled that I miss a digit the first time.
“Pacific Public Radio call-in line, what’s your comment?” Isabel Fernandez asks, and it’s such a rush of emotion to hear her voice.
During pledge drives, they often have listeners call in to share a story about the station and why they support it. I can’t believe I got through right away.
“Isabel, it’s Shay. Shay Goldstein.”
If I could
hear someone’s eyes bulge on the phone, it would probably sound the way Isabel’s stunned silence does.
“Shay? Hold on, let me put you through. This is going to be amazing!”
“No, wait—” I say, but it’s too late.
It’s odd, hearing the radio streaming from my laptop and then listening through my phone as I wait to be live on the air. And the whole time, I can’t believe I’m doing this, I’m really fucking doing this.
“It seems like we have a caller on the line,” Dominic says in my ear now.
“Dominic.” My voice is shaky.
Ruthie and Tatum are leaning across the booth to listen, Ruthie gripping my arm and Tatum gripping Ruthie.
Silence on the line. I want to admonish him, tell him dead air is deadly.
“Shay?” His voice shakes, too. “I didn’t think you’d hear. I mean—I hoped you would, but I figured you’d been avoiding the radio, and . . . wow. Wow.” I try to imagine him there in the studio, pacing back and forth, running a hand through his hair, pushing up the sleeves of his shirt. “It’s so good to hear your voice.”
I feel my face split into a grin. His voice isn’t enough. I have to see him, and I have to see him now. “Stay there,” I say. “I’m coming down.”
“Wait,” he says. “Wait—Shay—”
Ruthie and Tatum are gaping at me. “What is happening,” Ruthie says.