“Love you, too.”
I hang up and sigh. Thoughts of seeing Liam wind around in my brain. It’s tempting. Very tempting.
I go to my contacts and pull up his number. Next to it is the picture he took the night we met. The one where he’s kissing me so deeply, I felt it in my toes.
When he first left, I sent him text messages now and then, just to check if he was okay. I tried to keep them casual and friendly, but it somehow made me feel closer to him.
He’d never reply. Not with texts, anyway. The first time he called me, I panicked and let it go to voice mail. He left a message. Just listening to his voice made missing him both easier and harder.
I punch in the number for my voice mail. I’m embarrassed at how often I play these messages. When I hear them, I can almost imagine he’s with me.
“Hey, Elissa. How’s it going? Got your texts. I’m not great at replying to those things, so thought I’d call you instead. I made it to L.A. safely. Although after nearly six hours on a plane, I wanted to murder someone. Preferably the dude who made sure anyone over six feet tall would have to bend themselves like a pretzel to fit into those stupid economy seats. I suspect the asshole was a sadist. It’s the only logical explanation. Anyway, I’m going apartment hunting tomorrow. On my budget, I’ll be lucky to get something with running water and electricity, but I’ll do my best. Are you at The Grove yet? Surviving living with your brother? Okay, better go. Hope you’re well. Give me a call sometime, okay? I’d love to hear from you.”
A week later, I called him back. He didn’t pick up either, so I left him a voice mail. I told him about my course, the torture of living with Ethan. Everything and nothing.
After that, we fell into a cycle. Phone messages became our way of staying in touch without the pressure of an actual conversation. It worked for us. It took away the temptation of saying things in real time that would make our separation even more painful.
Or at least, that’s how it started.
“Hey, Liss. Sitting here, thinking about you. Thought I’d give you a quick call. I have my first screen test today. I’m nervous as hell. Please tell me it gets easier. Hope you’re well.”
“Liss! I got a national ad for Coke! It’s not Shakespeare but it’s a start. Now I can finally buy real food and pay my rent on time. Winning!” There’s a pause and a change of tone. “If you were here, I’d take you out to celebrate. Hope you’re well.”
See? Casual. Easy. Nice. I always replied.
But one day, the tone of Liam’s messages started to change.
“Hey, Liss. I kind of want you to pick up one day so we can have a proper conversation, but I know it would make me want to jump on the first plane home. I miss you. And New York. L.A. is driving me crazy, and Hollywood is . . . challenging.” He pauses. “The one thing that keeps me going is knowing we’ll be together again one day. I have no doubt about that. Leave me a message when you get a chance. I miss your voice. Well, I miss all of you, but hearing your voice makes me miss you a little less. Hope you’re well. Bye.”
From that day, my messages also got more plaintive. I kept the content the same—life at The Grove, my brother and his tragic love life, shows I was working on, and so on. But I also let him know I missed him. And putting that into words made the distance between us even more painful.
Then, a couple of months ago, I received this:
“Hey, my beautiful Liss. My bliss. See what I did there?” His voice is low and makes me tingle. “I’ve had a few beers, but I’m not drunk. I’m just . . . missing you. I keep hoping being away from you will get easier, but it doesn’t. If anything, it’s getting harder. I can’t stop thinking about our final night together. How good it felt when I put my hands on you. Even better when you put your hands on me. Do you remember? I can’t get it out of my mind. The feel of you. The sounds you made. God, just thinking about it does very horny things to me.”