100 Unanswered Calls

My girlfriend used to answer every call I made. Then her first love came back to town. Since then, she’d begun ignoring my calls. The first time, she rolled out a red carpet at the airport to welcome that man home. With cameras flashing around her, she glanced at my name on her phone and let it ring. The second time, she was throwing him a birthday party while I sat alone at the restaurant where we'd agreed to meet. I waited until the staff locked up for the night. And then came the hundredth call. Acute appendicitis had left me in so much pain I could barely stay conscious, but I managed to dial her number one last time. All I heard was the same automated message: "The number you dailed is busy now..." I later learned she'd been celebrating a major contract win with him at a restaurant overlooking the city. He even posted a picture of them together. "Thanks for making me your top priority," his caption read. Someone commented, "You two are practically a couple already. When are you making it official?" He replied with a blushing emoji. By the time she reached the hospital, my surgery was over. She smelled of another man's tobacco smoke. "Sorry. I couldn't get away from the business dinner," she told me. "You know he just moved back. He needs my help getting established. I promise it won't happen again." The anesthesia hadn't fully worn off, but somehow I managed a polite smile. "Okay," I said. Don't worry. There won't be a next time. Not for us. Chapter 1 Elliot's POV The first thing I did after leaving the hospital was walk into a phone store and get a new SIM card. I kept my old number active in a spare phone. It was useful for the occasional verification code. Mostly, though, I wanted to see how long it would take Sloane Marlowe to realize she'd lost me. She didn't notice right away. Of course she didn't. She was busy. Busy escorting Tristan Bellamy to industry launches. Busy introducing him to people who could help his career. Busy playing the part of the endlessly dependable Sloane, the woman who would drop anything for him. I knew all this thanks to Tristan's social media. He seemed to enjoy documenting every favor she did him. Every carefully framed photo and smug caption delivered the same message: he mattered to her in a way no one else did. Meanwhile, I packed my things, called a moving company, and started applying for jobs. A lot of jobs. Three years ago, when Sloane's career began taking off, I'd walked away from a promising position in design so I could look after our home and take care of her. I'd willingly made myself the stay-at-home partner she needed. I wasn't going to be that man anymore. I wanted my career back. I wanted myself back. A week later, Sloane returned from an out-of-town business trip. She dropped her suitcase by the front door and called out without even looking for me. "Eli, I'm starving. Make me some pasta." She sounded tired from the trip. Mostly, she sounded certain I'd do exactly what she asked. I came out of the study with an interview-preparation book in my hand. "There are plenty of delivery apps," I said. "Or you could make something yourself." She stared at me. For the first time in years, I hadn't hurried into the kitchen the second she said she was hungry. Her surprise hardened into a frown. "What's wrong with you? Did somebody upset you?" Chapter 2 "No. I'm just tired." My voice was so even it gave nothing away. "Tired?" Sloane let out an incredulous laugh. "What exactly do you have to be tired of? You stay home all day. Stop sulking and make dinner. I'm hungry." I didn't move. Instead, I nodded toward the suitcase at her feet. "You can unpack your own things, too. I have work to do." I went back into the study and shut the door, leaving her alone in the living room, her expression stormy and unreadable. That night, she ordered takeout. For the first time I could remember, she also unpacked her own suitcase. When we went to bed, she tried to wrap an arm around me from behind. "Eli, I know I've been neglecting you lately," she said, much more gently than before. "Don't stay mad, okay? Your birthday's coming up. I booked a table at Starlight. We'll celebrate properly." Starlight was the most exclusive date-night restaurant in the city. I'd mentioned wanting to go countless times, and each time Sloane had said work was too hectic. Once, a reservation there would have been enough to make me forgive almost anything. I would have convinced myself it proved she still loved me. Now I simply lifted her arm off my waist. "We'll see. I haven't had much of an appetite lately." Even in the dark, I felt her go rigid. Her hand hovered for a moment before dropping away. She probably thought I was throwing a tantrum. She had no idea I was done with her. * * * The next morning, I got dressed for a job interview. After years of wearing sweatpants and an apron, a tailored suit felt strangely unfamiliar. Sloane stopped in the doorway of our walk-in closet. Her eyes traveled over me, and I caught a flash of the admiration she used to show so freely. "Eli. I haven't seen you dressed up like that in forever." She reached for my waist. I stepped aside before I could think about it. We both froze. I used to love the way she held me there. She'd said it made her feel like I loved every part of her. Now my body rejected her touch before my mind had even registered it. After breakfast, we headed toward the front door together. She was slim and elegant in a muted blue skirt suit. I wore gray. When she stopped to straighten her skirt in the hall mirror, our reflections looked like a perfectly matched couple. I knew how little that picture had to do with reality. The interview went better than I'd dared hope. I emerged from the office tower into bright sunshine. On my way past a stylish oyster bar, I remembered how much I'd once loved raw seafood. Sloane refused to eat anything raw, so I'd stopped, too. Years had passed since I'd ordered any. I went in and asked for a table by the window. I was debating between the salmon crudo and the tuna tartare when I heard a voice I knew too well. I looked up. Sloane had just walked in, holding Tristan's hand. He clung to her arm with an easy familiarity, his voice almost flirtatious. "Sloane, you remembered this place? We used to come here all the time in college." He wore a white suit, paired with a tie in the exact same dusty blue as her outfit. They looked coordinated down to the smallest detail. Chapter 3 The tiny hope I'd felt that morning, standing beside Sloane in front of our mirror, popped like a soap bubble. As they passed my table, Sloane's eyes locked on mine. I immediately lowered my head and studied the menu as if I hadn't seen her. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her stop short. Tristan followed her gaze. "What is it?" Before she could answer, he tugged her farther into the restaurant. "Come on. You promised we'd get the tuna tartare today." I took a sip of water. Sloane kept looking back as he pulled her away, but she didn't come over. A server showed them to a private dining room. I turned my attention to the menu and ordered the crudo platter. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed. The design firm I'd interviewed with had emailed me onboarding documents. I was about to open them when a new post from Tristan appeared. Nine pictures. The first was a close-up of two hands clasped together. "Five years later. Same taste. Same person," the caption said. The comments were already pouring in. "Wait, is this your official announcement?" "Sloane finally got her first love back!" "When's the wedding?" Tristan answered them all with a blushing emoji. I set the phone facedown as my food arrived. The salmon was sliced paper-thin. I added a dab of horseradish and took a bite. The heat shot straight up my nose. For once, it didn't bring tears to my eyes. Outside the restaurant, my phone buzzed again. A message from Sloane. "Eli, there's a new bakery on the east side. Want me to bring you a cake?" I stared at the screen. For three years, she'd brought home pastries from that side of town. Pistachio crepe cake, molten chocolate cake, raspberry mousse. Every time, something different. I'd never told her I had a sweet tooth, much less asked her to drive across the city for dessert. Last week, Tristan had posted a photo of his apartment. It was on the east side. Suddenly every cake made sense. Each one had been an excuse to visit him. Each little gift I'd mistaken for affection was a souvenir of another lie. I left her message unanswered and called a real estate agent, Greg Harmon, instead. I asked him to list our home. When Sloane and I were still in love, she'd insisted on putting the property in my name alone. She said she wanted me to feel secure. Funny. That promise was the one thing she'd actually kept. * * * After speaking with Greg, I didn't go home. I caught a cab to the apartment of my old college roommate, Nate Callahan. He watched me make dinner in his kitchen, astonishment written all over his face. "You were practically a prince back in college," he said. "I don't think I ever saw you touch a stove. What happened to you?" I scrubbed the skillet and looked down at the rough patches on my hands. How was I supposed to tell him I'd gotten those calluses learning to make Sloane's favorite soups? Or that I hadn't been to a live music show in three years because she'd once complained they were too loud? I set the spatula aside and gave him a small smile. "A lot happened. But it won't happen again." The next day, when I returned home, Sloane was sitting on the living room couch in the same blue suit she'd worn to the restaurant. A carefully decorated cake stood on the dining table. Across the icing, cheerful letters spelled out: "Happy Fifth Anniversary." The moment she saw me, she shot to her feet. Her eyes were bloodshot. Chapter 4 "Where have you been?" she demanded. "I called you more than seventy times! Do you have any idea how worried I've been?" Then her voice rose another notch. "Do you even remember what today is?" I watched her unravel without feeling a thing. There had been nights when I'd asked her those same questions. Nights she'd spent with Tristan while I called and called, terrified and furious and desperate for an explanation. All I'd ever gotten back was a weary sigh. "Eli, stop making a scene. Could you be a little more understanding? Have some compassion for once." I'd thought if I were more considerate, more patient, more accommodating, she'd eventually appreciate me. Looking back, it had only ever been wishful thinking. "I've been busy," I said. Even I barely recognized how calm I sounded. Sloane blinked. Guilt flickered across her face. "Eli, did you see something yesterday? Because you're misunderstanding. Tristan and I..." I raised a hand to stop her. Then I reached into my bag for the property-settlement papers. Years ago, Sloane had told me she never wanted us to use the word "breakup." If I ever truly decided to leave, she said, I should sell the house. That would tell her everything she needed to know. I was about to slide the papers across the table when she called my name. "Eli!" She lifted an elegantly wrapped box and opened it carefully. Inside was a pair of diamond cuff links. "I had these custom-made. For our fifth anniversary." I didn't take them. My gaze had drifted to two movie tickets tucked into a corner of the coffee table. Before Sunrise. It was the first movie we'd watched together, at a private screening room where we'd gone on our first date. That night, Sloane had squeezed my hand and said, "We'll watch it again on every anniversary. Promise." For years, I'd taken that promise seriously. I started planning her gifts a month in advance. I'd been terrified of letting even one minute of our day go uncelebrated. This year, I'd forgotten our anniversary entirely. I finally took the cuff links and put the box on the table. "Thanks. I've been busy. I didn't get you anything." Sloane looked at me, and I saw the realization land. I hadn't simply forgotten a gift. I'd forgotten the day itself. Her lashes trembled. Her gaze took in my neatly cut hair, my business suit, and finally my bare ring finger. "It's okay," she said, forcing a smile. "Your birthday's coming up. We can celebrate then. I already have the reservation at Starlight." Her voice softened, slipping into that coaxing tone she always used after she'd hurt me. "You said you wanted to go there for your birthday. It took me three months to get us a table." She waited, watching my face. At last, I nodded and slipped the papers back into my bag. Fine. I'd wait until my birthday. After five years together, I supposed we could have one final dinner before saying goodbye. * * * On my birthday, Sloane had clearly made an effort. She wore a new outfit and carried an enormous bouquet of lilies. But the smile on her face faltered the moment she saw what I was wearing. Chapter 5 Her eyes dropped to my hoodie and jeans, the combination she'd once declared she hated most. "You're wearing that?" she asked, frowning. Then she caught herself and softened her expression. "Well, as long as you're happy." I quietly straightened the property papers inside my bag and paid her little act no mind. She'd never liked these clothes, but I did. In them, I felt closer to the person I'd been before I reshaped myself around her preferences. I wasn't Sloane's perfectly composed, endlessly agreeable Elliot anymore. I was a man who could make his own decisions. A man allowed to like what he liked. The neon sign outside Starlight glowed against the evening sky. I'd dreamed of spending my birthday here for years. Now I stood at the entrance and felt nothing at all. Sloane led us straight to a window table overlooking the entire city, as if she'd been there many times. She opened the menu and began recommending dishes. "Their foie gras is supposed to be incredible. And the truffle pasta..." Our server smiled. "You know our menu so well, ma'am. You must come here often." Sloane went still. She couldn't meet my eyes. I closed the menu without reacting. "I'll have the steak, medium rare, with mushroom sauce. Caesar salad to start, no croutons." Through dinner, Sloane worked hard to smooth over the awkwardness. She talked about her company, the latest movies, even taking me to the Seraphine Islands for a vacation. I nodded now and then and kept cutting my steak. Then a familiar voice interrupted us. "Sloane?" Tristan stood beside the table in a casual suit, looking as pure as the driven snow. Sloane's knife scraped harshly across her plate. She looked from me to him and back again, her expression almost comical in its panic. I dabbed my mouth with my napkin and rescued her from having to invent an excuse. "You two need to talk, right? Go ahead. Don't mind me." She hesitated, her expression shifting, before getting up and following him. They stopped near a champagne station a few yards away. Tristan laid a hand on her shoulder. Less than a minute later, Sloane came back alone. Tristan stood there, visibly stunned, then stormed out of the restaurant. That surprised me. In the past, I was always the one she left behind. Sloane sat down. She looked as though she wanted to say something but didn't know where to begin. "Eli, I..." "Your steak's getting cold," I said quietly. I resumed eating. I'd listened to enough explanations to last a lifetime. Ten more minutes, I told myself. Ten minutes, one signature, and this would finally be over. Sloane gradually relaxed. By the time we finished our entrees, she was even talking about renovating the study. I smiled when appropriate, occasionally agreeing. The hope growing in her eyes was almost painful to watch, but it didn't change anything. When dessert arrived, I reached into my briefcase and took out a folder. She smiled at me, completely unsuspecting. "What's that?" I opened the folder and pointed to the signature line. "The property-settlement agreement. Just sign here. Once the house is sold, we can go our separate ways without making things uglier than they need to be."