Chapter 16 Hopelessness
It’s late. The kind of late where the parking lot feels hollowed out, fluorescent lights buzzing like they’re tired too. I’m still in my car, engine off, hands resting uselessly on the wheel. I’ve done this a few times lately....just sit here, staring at nothing, like if I don’t move, the feeling might pass me by.
I feel overwhelmed. That’s the closest word I’ve got, and it still feels lazy and inaccurate. Like calling a storm “bad weather.” There’s something heavier under it. Something that presses in on my chest and makes me feel like I’ve failed....quietly, privately, in a way no one else would ever clock.
I wish I had language for it. This hopelessness that feels absurd and unwarranted and, frankly, stupid. I have a good life by any reasonable metric. A nice apartment with my name on the lease. A car I chose, not one I settled for. A career people envy. I’ve checked all the boxes that are supposed to add up to contentment.
And yet....
I scoff under my breath and shake my head, like I can physically dislodge the thought. This is ridiculous. I refuse to become one of those people who sit around asking what the point of everything is. I’m not built like that. I can’t be. Weakness has never been an option, I was raised on achievement, on momentum, on the idea that if something feels empty you just outrun it.
So why does it keep catching me?
My phone sits in the cup holder, face down. I don’t need to look at it to know who I want to call. The thought alone tightens something in my gut. Ryan...Of course it’s Ryan. It’s been him all day, threaded through my thoughts like a nerve I keep hitting by accident.
I shouldn’t call, I don’t even know what I’d say. There’s no clean reason, no excuse I can hide behind this time. And it’s almost ten. He’s probably asleep. Or lying in bed staring at the ceiling, hating me for existing so insistently in his space. He’s going to think I’m unhinged.
I pick up the phone anyway.
The screen lights up. His name. I hesitate just long enough to pretend this is still a choice, then I hit call. I bring it to my ear and stare out through the windshield, heart thudding in a way that feels embarrassingly loud. It rings thrice.
Of course he’s not going to answer.
Then....a click followed by silence. Not a hello. Not a breath. Just him there on the other end, the same way he was last time, like he’s waiting for me to prove why I interrupted his night.
I swallow.
“I think,” I say, voice rougher than I meant it to be, “I might resign tomorrow.”
The words hang there, shocking even me. I let out a short, humorless breath. The parking lot feels too small all of a sudden.
“And....” I add, because apparently I’m committed to sounding completely deranged now, “Do you think people would listen if I started a podcast where I talk about, I don't know, people who check the fridge three times like something new might magically appear. Or people who clap when planes land.....Or men who accidentally build lives they don’t want and then sit in their cars at night wondering where the hell they went wrong?”
I pause, finally aware of how insane I sound. There’s silence on the line for way too long. Long enough that I pull the phone away from my ear and glance at the screen, just to make sure the call didn’t drop. Then Ryan finally speaks.
“I’m pretty sure there are online communities for people who name their houseplants and apologize to furniture they bump into,” he says dryly. “So yeah. You’d get a following.”
Something in my chest eases at the sound of him. Not the words, just the fact of his voice. Warm and real. Anchored somewhere outside my head. The heaviness doesn’t vanish, but it loosens, like a knot that finally realizes it doesn’t have to be clenched this tight. He exists somewhere out there. He’s talking to me. And somehow, that matters oddly more than it should.
“Are you serious?” he then asks, quieter now.
“About the podcast?”
“No,” he says. “About resigning.”
I chuckle, but there’s nothing light in it. I sink back into the driver’s seat, staring up at the concrete ceiling of the lot. “Probably,” I say. “It’s a pretty tempting idea right now.”
There’s another careful and considered pause. “Did something happen?”
I listen harder than I need to, like I’m trying to memorize the sound of him. There’s noise now....wind and distant traffic, my brow furrows.
“Where are you?” I ask, before I can stop myself. He doesn’t answer for a beat. Long enough that I start to wonder if he’s hanging up.
Then, “Outside.”
I tilt my head, genuinely curious. “Outside where?”
“In a park.”
“This late?”
“Yeah.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah.”
I can almost see him there, darkness swallowing the edges of the park, his hands maybe in his pockets, the faint rustle of leaves underfoot. I swallow, already knowing the question is coming whether I like it or not.
“Would you like some company?” The words escape before I can stop them, then I add, almost against my better judgment, “I’d like to see you.”
I brace for the no, I won’t fight it. He seems like the type who values his space. Someone who thinks deeply, who treasures being alone.
“Some company sounds nice,” he says, finally.
And just like that, my chest loosens a fraction. Relief, thrill, and a sharp edge of something darker all coil at once. I can’t wait to see him. I ask for the park’s address, already reaching for the gearshift. The moment he gives it to me, I’m pulling out of the lot, tires crunching softly against the concrete.
“I’ll be there in a few,” I say, already half gone. I go to end the call....
“Michael?”
The way he says my name stops me cold.
There’s something in it I’ve never heard before. Not careful or guarded. Just bare. Like he reached for it without thinking. Like it slipped out of him. I’ve heard my name my whole life, but never like that....never this weighted.
“Yeah?” I answer, slower now, my grip tightening on the wheel. For a split second, I’m braced for disappointment. For him to say he’s changed his mind. That he's actually tired or would rather be alone. Instead, he hesitates. I can hear it. Then—
“Could you stop by McDonald’s?”
I blink.
“And get me a burger,” he adds, almost sheepish. “If it’s not out of your way.”
I let out a quiet laugh, surprised and warm all at once. Something in me eases, something human and absurd and grounding.
“Yeah,” I say, smiling to myself as I signal onto the road. “I can do that.”