thank you, part 3

December 2087. Vicky Garth is 23, April Hutchins is 24.

previously: thank you part 1 // part 2

Vicky slept badly—there were no dreams, just fits of darkness between tossing and turning. Finally, there was daylight and the chirping of birds. Her alarm hadn’t gone off yet. She tried to focus her ragged eyes on the time, but she found a troublesome cell phone on the nightstand instead. How unassuming it seemed now, but what havoc had it wreaked last night? 

Please tell me you didn’t really sing a whole song into his voicemail. Please, just don’t let that be real.


She picked up the phone and found the sound files, several draft versions, all around three minutes and twenty-two seconds long. Vicky listened to the song again and cringed. She felt so dumb. The song was too much. It was revealing. It was real and raw and exposed. Vicky wasn’t the type to expose herself in any sort of way. She could literally die.

Then she checked her call logs. So many phone calls and texts. Of course there was no record on her end of what voicemail she left at 4:25 a.m., only that she did in fact leave one and that it was three minutes and twenty-two seconds long. 

“Holy shit, kill me now,” Vicky said.

Then she wondered what was worse: that she actually sent the song? Or that it had now been seven hours, and he hadn’t returned any of her two-dozen calls and texts?

She couldn’t decide whether to feel mortified or furious, so she just got dressed for work.


It was early still. She had an hour before Beau would show up to open the apothecary, so she sat down at the bar in April’s cafe and asked for a double shot of espresso. She could fret here just as well as at home. And it looked like she was in good company. April sprayed milk in her face and then dropped a pod of coffee grounds. The customers looked hurried and irritated. It was a rough morning all around. 

Vale had said, Fine, it’s no big deal. I was just being stupid.

Oh god, what if it was all just a joke? A flippant passing idea? An afterthought? Because maybe that’s what was taking him so long to call back. He couldn’t decide how to tell her, “Holy shit, Vicky! Overreaction much? I didn’t mean it like that. You know, maybe you are kind of crazy.”

She wanted to shrivel up and cease to exist.  

April finished three orders, finally, and came over. “What’s up? You look like shit!”

“Why am I this way?” Vicky asked, waving her hands frantically. 

“Huh?”

“I think he likes me. But he shouldn’t. I’m a disaster. But I was weird, and then he got weird, then he was mad, and now he won’t return my calls. So, god, I didn’t know what to do. So I started writing and a song came out.”

April grinned. “You wrote a song? Hey, cool. Let’s hear it.”

“No way. April! The point is that I sent it to him! I sang the stupid song into his voicemail.”

“What did it say?”

Vicky’s face went blank. “Everything.”

April shrugged. “Well, that’s one way to get the job done. So what’s the problem? He likes you, and now he knows you like him, too.”


Everything had always been that simple for April. She got knocked down, shrugged, brushed herself off and kept going. She was shameless. She was indestructible. Meanwhile, Vicky felt like she could explode. She wasn't cut out for this. 

Another rush of customers took April away again. Vicky checked her phone. Eight hours, and he still hadn't responded. She stalked him on all of his social media pages. There was no activity anywhere, not even scheduled posts. Wow, she must have really done a number on him. 


The cafe finally cleared out, and April came to sit down.

“So, tell me more. Is this happening?”

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Vicky said. “I’m waiting for him to call me back and tell me what’s happening.”

“But, how exciting! This is big!”

“No, it’s not exciting," Vicky said, shaking her head. "It’s terrifying and sad.”

“Okay.” April nodded. “I think I get it. It was so cozy and safe pretending to hate him so that you wouldn’t have to admit how badly you want to fuck his brains out?”


Vicky smiled for the first time in hours. “April!”

“Girl, you’ve been barking up that tree since summertime. I was at that festival, too. I saw it.”

“Well, I wasn’t pretending in the beginning,” Vicky said. “I couldn’t stand him. He was so arrogant and annoying and wrong. And now, well, he’s still arrogant and he can be annoying and—don’t tell him I said so—not as wrong as I thought. I guess I discovered that he’s all of these other things too, like fun and cute and thoughtful and charming in his own very irritating way. And when he wears those tight black jeans, I do kind of want to bite them off with my teeth.”

“That’s my girl. So what’s the problem then?”


“He can’t be serious,” Vicky said. “He was screwing models a few weeks ago. What does he want with me?”

April shrugged. “Maybe ask him.”

“That’s what he asked me," Vicky said. "What do I want with him? And I said, nothing. But that’s not how I meant it. I don’t want nothing. I don’t know what I want, but it’s not nothing. I guess he kind of knows that now, since I wrote that in the song.”

“Wait though,” April said. “I get that you’re scared, but why are you sad?”

“Because it doesn’t matter who likes who, or how much one or the other of us wants to fuck, we’re doomed. First, because I’m me and I ruin things. Second, because we only get along like half of the time. Third, because he’s gonna be super famous and have his pick of any woman on the planet. Prettier women, nicer women. See? It’s basically already over and we haven’t even started...”   

“And we had a fun thing. A really fun thing. We could have just kept going with our fun thing. But, I guess, he didn’t think it was fun anymore. See? He’s already getting sick of me.”

“Vicky, you have abandonment issues,” April said. “I mean, well, you probably have anger issues, too. But mostly, abandonment issues. You push people away so they can’t leave you, or disappoint you, or hurt you. But then you also don’t give anyone a chance to love you. Believe me, I’ve been there. My therapist told me that trusting people with your feelings is one of the hardest things you’ll ever do."

The front door chimed and another grumpy-looking customer in need of caffeine walked in. 

April got up. “Duty calls, back to work.” 

“But wait,” Vicky said. “Do you think it might be better if we were just fuck buddies? Maybe he might be up for something casual? No strings attached? No expectations, no promises?”

“Aw, sweetie,” April said. “You’re too far gone for that. But don’t worry, he’s probably just sleeping.”

“That’s the worst! Just, how could he sleep so well after all that?”

“What an asshole!” April laughed. Then she went back to work.

Vicky finished her espresso, and she went to work, too. She hoped the work might take her mind off things. Because the only thing slower than waiting for Vale to call her back was watching plants grow. 

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