Nathan

Rain was flooding down the large windows of my office. I should've been able to hear the drops crash against the glass, but the only audible thing was the voice of one of my colleagues, droning on and on about a hockey game his daughter had played last night. It would've been fine if he didn't talk about the girl like she was an asset, something that could gain him some profit.

I was pretending to be listening, while in reality, I was trying to guess how many times I'd been dripping wet since I moved to London. The number must be higher than twenty by now. Wonder if it was raining back in Palo Alto. Probably not. Wonder if June and Sam were asleep, or if she was still awake, working on her coding, or on another poem. Or maybe Charlotte had interpreted it correctly after all, and she was with that guy, and that's why she didn't feel the need to call me anymore. I supposed I should be happy for her if that were the case, but if I was honest with myself, the idea was like a direct punch to the stomach. Being replaced by some football kid... Figures. It didn't sound like her.

Just when I was afraid I'd never get rid of this ass, my phone rang, loud and urgent, cutting right through his speech. Holding back a relieved sigh, I picked the thing up, putting on my serious face. "Sorry, have to take this."

His jaw clenched, like he actually thought a children's hockey game was more important than anyone wanting to talk to me. For a brief moment, I was afraid he wasn't going to leave, then, he marched away. Finally.

No idea who was calling me, but whoever it was, I could kiss them right now.

"Good morning. Rutherford and Addington, Nathan Redstone speaking. How can I help you?"

"Hi, Nathan. I do still remember your name, you know."

"June!"

Immediately, I sat up in my chair, a smile slowly unfolding on my face. She was calling me. She was calling me herself — she did still want to talk to me. I ran my hands through my hair, searching for the right words to say, something funny, something that'd make her laugh, but my mind was racing that hard that I couldn't come up with anything. "Thank god you called me," I said. "You just saved me from this very obnoxious guy."

"Obnoxious? You're starting to sound like Charlotte."

There was something strange about her voice — or well, something different than usual. Had she been crying? Or was it something else? I didn't want her to hang up on me again, not like all the previous times. I had to say something to hold her attention, maybe even try to let her spill what was going on with her.

"I don't even notice anymore," I said quickly. "Good I have you to remind me. Wait, isn't it the middle of the night there right now?" My laptop said ten am, and it was eight hours earlier back in California. It wasn't a strange time for her to be up on a Friday: she was a night owl, after all. What was strange, was that she'd contacted me, without even texting me first. It wasn't like her. What was going on?

"Yeah... two am. I just got back from a party. I'm a little drunk, and I had a shitty day, so... just wanted to hear your voice."

For a second, I reveled in the fact that it was me she wanted to hear when she was down, and not some football kid, until I realized I wasn't supposed to be grinning at her telling me she was feeling down. "Are you okay, June?"

"Not really, but it's no big deal. Just a bad day. You know."

"Yeah, I had a feeling today was going to be just as bad."

"Not anymore?"

"Of course not. I'm talking to you."

A sharp breath, and for a while, she was so quiet I even glanced at the phone screen to check if we'd been disconnected. "I miss you," she said then.

Thank god. I didn't know why those words affected me this much; at that moment, they were all I wanted to hear. They made me aware of my blood rushing through my veins, my palms suddenly sweaty, and I was afraid I was going to drop the phone and not catch the next thing she was going to say. I gripped it tighter, mustering up the courage to speak, because somehow, I wasn't really sure if I'd be able to. "I miss you too, Junie," I said, luckily in a completely normal tone. "You aren't letting anyone else open doors for you right now, are you? I wouldn't be able to live with that."

What a foolish thing to say. She didn't seem to mind, though: "Don't worry. No one here's as polite as you."

I chuckled. "You should come and visit. People are so polite here, you'll feel right at home." She didn't respond, and I ran my hand through my hair again. Please, don't hang up on me, please don't... "How's Sam?"

A huff. "He's... being a sixteen-year-old boy."

"It passes, I promise." I wished she'd FaceTimed me, so I could've seen her smile, see the little lights dancing in her eyes. At least, if she'd found my answer amusing. Maybe she didn't. Nah. This was June. Of course she did.

"It better. He's completely head over heels for Hayley, and I think he doesn't even realize it himself."

Hayley. Well, that was a smarter choice than Jennifer. See, Charlotte? June and Sam were only friends, and that was what they'd remain. No offense to my little brother, but she was too good for him. "Seems like it runs in the family, huh?"

Another silence. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I mean... Lena..."

"Oh yeah, of course. Seems like you got over it, though."

"Yeah, seems like it." I was losing her again; I could feel it, like the phone sliding from my sweaty hands was her running away from me. The only option I could think of was applying the known Guevara-tactic: "June, what happened at that party?"

"Nothing. I just drank too much, and Sam and Hayley were bickering the whole damn time. It was exhausting."

I could've just as well dropped my phone. She was lying to me. I didn't need to see her face to be sure. My throat went dry; I swallowed, but it didn't help. When I left, I thought it'd be easy to keep in contact with her, easy to remain us. It was only for a year, after all, and we'd see each other during the holidays. That was barely enough time to rip our friendship apart, right?

Seemed like I'd been wrong. She didn't feel the need to share stuff with me anymore — she could've found someone else, someone who hadn't left her to move across the ocean. She could've changed, no matter how impossible that seemed. Without me there. She could not want to let me get to know whoever she was right now, because what was the point, with me so far away?

Only there was a point. A very important point. And that was that I always wanted to know her, wherever or whoever we both were.

I was trying to formulate a sentence that'd get the message across, when she asked: "How are you, though? Freezing to death?"

Moment passed. "I don't have time to freeze to death. I barely have time to eat. I mean, I'm working on Saturdays. How bad can it get? This morning, I was wondering for five minutes why my pants wouldn't fit when I realized I was putting them on backward."

There was her laugh, only shortly, but it made me release a breath I hadn't been aware of holding. God, I missed that sound... "You aren't living on take-out, are you?"

"Well, I try to cook every now and then... It's just a lot harder when you're not there. You're still going to marry me when you turn eighteen, right?"

"I'm hoping for you that Charlotte didn't hear that. You know what she said. I wasn't going to go anywhere with her man." And it seemed like I'd made the wrong joke again: she was struggling to keep her voice steady, and there was a bitterness to it I'd never heard in her before. What the hell happened to her?

There was a knock on my door. Anne, with a stack of papers in her hands. No! Not right now! I gestured for her to go away, but she ignored me: "Meeting in five, Mr. Redstone," she said, loud enough for June to hear.

"Well, seems like you're busy... And I should be heading to bed anyway."

No, no, no, fucking Anne and her timing... "I still got five minutes."

"I'm sure you need to prepare. And I'm just exhausted."

Strange, how she could make my day and tear it apart in the span of one conversation. "Yeah, okay... Talk again soon?"

"Sure. Bye, Nathan."

I didn't even get the chance to say something back; she'd hung up on me, again, and she could've just as well thrown a brick in my face.

Sure, she'd said. That was far away from the "you have to promise me to call me tomorrow night" I'd gotten in the beginning.

I didn't know what this was, or why it was happening, but it had to end quickly.

How many months till Christmas again?

Shit. Still two to go.