I'll Tell Them Tomorrow

With

The nine page test landed on my desk face down with a deafening thud. Passing this test determined whether or not I passed the class, and passing this class determined whether or not I graduated.

The professor dismissed us, but I paused briefly, staring at the red marks seeping through the white sheets of paper.

With one big breath, I flipped the test over.

87

A small squeal escaped, but I didn't stop to see any of the strange looks people gave me.

I took the steps up to our third floor apartment two at a time. Busting through the front door, he looked up at me from his seat at the table where he sat doing his own homework.

"Did you pass?" He asked excitedly.

"I got a B!" Dropping my bag, I ran to hug him.

"Congrats, love."

"Thanks for helping me study. I couldn't have done this without you."

"Nah. This was all you." He grabbed his keys. "Come on. Celebratory mint chocolate chip."

Without

"Welcome to the team. We're really excited to have you here."

We both stood, and I reached out to shake the HR manager's hand.

"Thank you. I'm looking forward to getting started."

I maintained my composure until I was seated in my car, door closed. Catching my reflection in the rearview mirror, my face erupted in an ecstatic grin.

Rocking back and forth in excitement I accidentally tapped the horn, startling someone walking in front of my car. I offered an apologetic wave before taking a big breath to collect myself and leaving the parking lot.

I parked in the driveway and quickly let myself into the house.

"Buster!"

My lab mix greeted me at the door by shoving his head into my leg.

"I got the job, Buddy!" I whispered. I slid down the door to sit beside him.

Leaning into him, I sighed. I could keep selling shoes for all he cared. Buster didn't know the difference.

I grabbed my phone. My thumb hovered over His name briefly as tears welled up in my eyes. I shook my head abruptly and instead removed His number from my favorites.

It had been six months. It was well past time.

I glanced at my other top contacts: Mom, Dad, Sis, friends of course... and yes, they'd be so excited for me...

"I'll tell them tomorrow." I said to Buster.

Buster kissed my face, erasing any evidence of the tears that may have spilled over.

With

Another bead of sweat followed a well-ridden track down my back. I glanced at my phone. 98 degrees. What a beautiful day to get stranded on the side of the highway.

I saw the familiar silver sedan as it approached, slowing down as it pulled over onto the shoulder behind my black coupe.

"Man, am I glad to see you." I said as he approached me, offering me a Gatorade.

He leaned in for a quick kiss. "Missed me so much, you ignored your gas light?"

"Shut up." I gave him a quick shove. "You know my gas gauge is broken. I slightly miscalculated."

He chuckled as he retrieved the gas can out of his car and started filling my tank. "You never were good at math."

"Rude." I chugged half the Gatorade, feeling the cold liquid travel through me. "Thank you."

"Oh boy, you're thanking me for the insults now? We'd better get you in the air conditioning." He joked.

I finished the Gatorade just as he put the cap back on the gas can.

"All set," he said.

"Seriously. Thank you."

He reached for my hand. "Come on. Let's get you home."

And just like that, I wasn't stranded anymore.

Without

The crosswalk light gave me the go ahead, slowly counted down from ten, and then put up a hand, yet I stood still at the street corner. The city was quiet. I could hear the buzz of the streetlamps, the soft change of the traffic lights, and the occasional car in the distance.

My phone buzzed. No driver found.

I sighed, thirty minutes of searching for a Lyft home had gotten nowhere. My friends had been picked up ages ago, and I'd been cycling between ride-sharing apps trying to get a ride, watching other people get picked up or get into the vehicles and drive off even though they clearly shouldn't have.

It was 3:15 am. Everything was closed. Everyone I knew was either asleep or drunk, and I was still stranded—alone—nine miles from home.

Switching apps again, I locked in a driver who was completing another ride. I crossed my fingers hoping this one wouldn't cancel. I just wanted to go home.

With

Gripping his arm, I stepped across the threshold. The people, the flowers, the photos—it was overwhelming. I held onto him tightly, afraid I might lose myself in a crowd of "I'm so sorry for your loss."

We approached the coffin, and I let go long enough to kiss my grandmother and whisper goodbye. Tears fell freely as I caught sight of my mom. Her expression was solemn, yet her eyes betrayed her. Grief cracked through them, raw and wide open, and my heart broke for her.

A sob I'd been holding in ripped free, and he pulled me into his arms. His hand moved in slow circles on my back. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. He was here.

When I finally pulled away, he wiped a few tears from my cheeks. More would come. I knew he’d keep wiping them away for as long as I needed.

Without

I don't know how long I sat in the driveway. The cold had crept in, and the only warmth left was my breath fogging up the windows, obscuring the view of the house.

Before the shivering could start, I forced myself out of the car and up to the front door. Buster's leash hung limply from my left hand. I braced myself for the quiet as I unlocked the door.

Inside, I still half expected to hear the jingle of his collar, the soft thud of his paws against the floor as he ran to greet me. I watched the hallway, waiting for his goofy smile and chaotic tail, but, of course, neither came.

I walked slowly through the house, unsure what to do with myself, until I ended up in front of the fridge. I opened the freezer and spotted the box of popsicles—his popsicles. They weren’t technically his, but every time I tried to eat one, Buster would bite the top off before I could stop him.

I pulled one from the box. As I slid the rest back into the freezer, a pint of mint chocolate chip caught my eye. The tears came fast, hot and bitter, as I slammed the door shut.

At the table, I ate my popsicle in silence, letting it drip like I always did.

This time, though, I’d be the one cleaning it up.

I reached for my phone—then stopped.

There was no one to call. Not today.

I rested it face-down on the table beside the popsicle stick.

"I'll tell them tomorrow," I whispered.