Coming Up For Air | ✓

19 | i just called to say-

Sat on the couch, wrapped up in one of Angelina's gray, knitted wool blankets, Stella stares down at the screen of her phone. Pressing her lips together, she taps the backspace-key five times, then—shaking her head at herself—she retypes the words she just deleted and, before she has the chance to change her mind, presses send.

'Jake'

Happy birthday! (:

Letting out a shaky breath, she ponders whether she should put her phone away—toss it in a drawer in an attempt to forget about it for the rest of the night. She straightens in her seat, about to act on the idea as her eyes are drawn back to the screen. To the screen and the three small dots having appeared on it.

Stella's fingers tighten around the phone as she watches the three dots disappear, then reappear—only to sink away again. She waits for a text message to slide into their place, but it never does. Disappointment begins to creep into her chest, a steady yet heavy rhythm to the beat of her heart.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

With a small sigh she drops the phone to her side, reaching for the pint of ice cream stood before her on the coffee table, only to startle as the device begins to buzz against the cushion with an incoming call.

Stella's throat tightens, heart beating hard as her hand hovers over the pint of ice cream. Swallowing, she shoots the phone and its lit-up screen a sideways glance.

Jake.

For one brief moment she wonders if she should let it ring. The same way she did during those first days upon her return to the lake house, before he stopped calling entirely. The same way she still does when it's Faye on the other end of the line, waiting for her to pick up. Maybe it's a pocket-dial. Jake's probably out celebrating with his friends, there's no reason for him to be reaching out to her now. It has to be a pocket-dial.

Though... what if it's not?

Pursing her lips, a faint crease appears between Stella's brows as she fully casts her gaze to the still ringing phone, recalling those three dots.

Something urgent—hot and desperate as it beats down hard on the heaviness in her chest—has her reaching for the phone, sliding her finger across the screen as she puts it to her ear.

Drawing air in through her nose in a deep inhale, the exhale comes out shorter as she says, "Hello?"

A hush falls over the line, allowing the noisy bustle from the other end of the call to fall and pick up in her ear. Stella's gut twists as she listen to it.

Then, "I guess this means your phone does work."

Stella's eyes flutter shut, fingers clutching the phone tighter as she stumbles over a breath. "Jake."

"Hi."

Stella lets her free palm cover her heart, soothing the whirlwind in there. Her voice comes out small—soft in her tone, as if in awe—as she speaks, "Hi,"

Another stretch of silence passes between them as she hears him slip away from wherever he is, stillness replacing the noise. A door closing—an exhale of relief.

"It's your birthday."

A somewhat chortled grunt, as if Jake wants to laugh but cannot quite let the sound fall freely from his lips, travels across the call. "It is,"

She's not sure how long the silence stretches this time, but eventually Jake speaks again. "How have you been?"

Stella's gaze flickers to the pint of soon-to-be melted ice cream, her words falling off her tongue in a strange jumble of honesty. "I've had a lot of ice cream. I never really thought of myself as someone who'd enjoy mint chocolate chip but turns out—when you've already eaten everything else—it's not too bad. I went grocery store shopping in my pajamas one morning. But then Paisley Andersen saw me."