Chapter 124 Waiting
Chapter 124 Waiting
Chapter Twenty-Two
Charlie
Monday feels longer than it has any right to.
The lab isn’t any busier than usual.
Nothing catastrophic breaks.
No emergency phone calls drag me out of bed before sunrise.
No freezer decides to wage war against months of research.
Everything is… normal.
Which is somehow worse.
Because normal leaves too much room to think.
“Charlie.”
I blink.
Dr. Patel is standing beside my workstation.
She’s holding a clipboard and wearing the same patient expression she reserves for people who have clearly left their brains somewhere else.
“You’ve been staring at that centrifuge for almost five minutes.”
I glance toward it.
The machine finished spinning a while ago.
“Oh.”
“You planning on opening it?”
“Eventually.”
She folds her arms.
“You alright?”
“Fine.”
It’s become my favorite lie.
She doesn’t buy it.
Neither does anyone else, apparently.
“You’ve said ‘fine’ three times today.”
“Have I?”
“Yes.”
“Huh.”
She studies me for another second before shaking her head.
“Go take ten.”
“I’m okay.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
I sigh.
“Yes, ma’am.”
She smiles.
“See? You’re trainable.”
I mutter something under my breath that earns a laugh from one of my coworkers.
At least I can still make people laugh.
Even if I don’t particularly feel like it.
\---
The break room is empty.
I pour myself a cup of coffee.
Take one sip.
Immediately regret it.
“Seriously?”
I stare accusingly into the paper cup.
Every cup tastes wrong now.
Too bitter.
Too weak.
Too…
Not Cade.
I hate that my brain has started comparing every cup of coffee to his.
I hate it even more because it keeps losing.
I dump the rest into the sink.
A week ago, I would’ve laughed at myself.
Now?
Now it just feels sad.
By lunchtime, my phone has remained stubbornly silent.
Not that I expected otherwise.
That was the whole point.
I told myself the next move had to be his.
If I reached out again…
If I apologized again…
If I chased him again…
Nothing would change.
He had to decide.
That doesn’t make waiting any easier.
Jordan sends me a picture of a sandwich with the caption:
You should be jealous.
I smile despite myself.
Looks terrible.
His reply comes almost instantly.
Dad made it.
The smile fades.
Of course he did.
For a second, I imagine Cade standing in the kitchen making lunch.
Sleeves rolled to his elbows.
Hair still damp from the shower.
Humming quietly to himself without realizing it.
The image settles into my chest with surprising ease.
Like a memory.
Or maybe a wish.
I lock my phone before I can overthink it.
The week crawls by.
Tuesday becomes Wednesday.
Wednesday becomes Thursday.
Work fills the hours.
It doesn’t fill the quiet.
Every evening I come home to an apartment that feels too large for one person.
I’d never noticed before.
Now every room echoes.
The couch feels emptier.
Dinner tastes blander.
The television stays off more often than it’s on.
I catch myself listening for sounds that don’t exist.
Jordan arguing over something ridiculous.
Cade calling everyone to dinner.
Laughter drifting in from another room.
Instead…
Nothing.
Just me.
\---
Friday afternoon finally arrives.
Normally I’d already be throwing clothes into an overnight bag.
Checking traffic.
Wondering whether Jordan had convinced Cade to make cinnamon rolls.
Now I simply sit at my desk after everyone else has gone home.
Dr. Patel passes by. “You heading out?”
“In a minute.”
She looks at the clock. “You’ve been saying that for twenty.”
“I know.”
“You waiting for something?”
I almost answer honestly.
Instead, I smile faintly. “No.”
That isn’t entirely true.
I’m waiting.
I just don’t know for what.
Outside, snow has finally stopped.
The sidewalks are lined with dirty piles left behind by the plows.
The air is sharp enough to sting my lungs.
I zip my coat higher and head toward my car.
Halfway there, I stop.
Without really deciding to.
My feet simply…
Stop.
The road to my apartment is straight ahead.
The road toward Cade’s neighborhood is a left turn.
I stare at the intersection for a long moment.
Go home.
Or…
No.
I promised myself.
Your move.
Not mine.
The thought hurts more than I expected.
I turn right.
Home.
Saturday morning arrives quietly.
Too quietly.
By ten o’clock, I’ve already cleaned my apartment.
Done laundry.
Vacuumed.
Reorganized the pantry.
Twice.
Apparently avoiding feelings makes me surprisingly productive.
Around noon, there’s a knock at my door.
I frown.
I’m not expecting anyone.
When I open it, Lottie is standing there holding two paper bags.
“Please tell me one of those is lunch.”
“It is.”
“And the other?”
“Dessert.”
“I love you.”
“I know.”
She walks inside without waiting for an invitation.
Some habits never change.
A few minutes later we’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch eating sandwiches.
She watches me over the top of her drink.
“What?”
“You’ve cleaned.”
“So?”
“You only clean like this when you’re stressed.”
“I always clean.”
She raises an eyebrow.
“No.”
“…Fair.”
Silence settles comfortably between us.
Eventually she asks, “Any word?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Have you called?”
“No.”
“You look like that’s physically hurting you.”
“It is.”
She smiles sympathetically. “I’m proud of you.”
I blink. “For what?”
“For keeping your promise.”
I frown. “I promised myself.”
“Those are usually the hardest promises to keep.”
She isn’t wrong.
“I almost drove over there yesterday.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
I lean back against the couch. “Because if I show up…”
I pause. “…then nothing changes.”
Lottie nods.
“I keep proving I’ll come back.”
“I keep proving I’ll wait.”
“I keep proving I’ll chase him.”
I look down at my hands.
“I need to know he’ll choose me without me dragging him there.”
She smiles softly. “I think that’s fair.”
“I hope so.”
After she leaves, the apartment grows quiet again.
The sun begins to set, painting the snow outside in shades of gold and blue.
I stand by the window with a mug of coffee I have no intention of finishing.
The street below is calm.
A few kids throw snowballs across the courtyard.
Someone walks a golden retriever wearing little red boots.
Life goes on.
Funny how it always does.
My phone sits on the windowsill beside me.
Dark.
Silent.
I don’t pick it up.
I don’t check it every five minutes.
I don’t stare at Cade’s contact.
I’ve done enough of that.
Instead, I simply wait.
Not passively.
Not hopelessly.
Just…
Patiently.
If Cade comes…
I’ll be here.
If he doesn’t…
I’ll survive.
It’ll hurt.
God, it’ll hurt.
But I’ll survive.
The realization is strangely comforting.
Because for the first time since all of this began, I understand something.
Loving someone doesn’t mean abandoning yourself.
It doesn’t mean carrying the entire relationship on your shoulders.
Sometimes…
Loving someone means stepping back.
Trusting them to meet you halfway.
Outside, a car turns into the apartment complex.
Its headlights sweep briefly across my living room wall.
I glance toward the window without thinking.
Just another neighbor.
I smile at myself.
Then turn away.
Completely unaware that, several miles across town, another man is standing in his own kitchen, staring at a set of car keys and trying to gather the courage to finally make the first move.