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."

"And you made the front page of the town gazette?"

"No," Letting her feet come down against the rug, Stella pauses. "At least I don't hope so."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Jake says and Stella's lips twitch up ever so slightly; it sounds like he's smiling. "I don't think they'd risk the flourishing boom of tourism for a shot of your bedhead."

"I'll let you know my bedhead is strikingly beautiful."

"I'm sure it is."

Palpable, silence falls upon them once again. Stella listens to Jake's soft breathes, her own mimicking their pattern. Or maybe it's the other way around.

Casting the less-than-stellar mint chocolate chip ice cream a glance, she gets up—the blanket falling to her feet in a tousled heap—and pads across the floors to the patio sliding door. She reaches for the handle, catching sight of her own reflection in the glass; her hair's tied back into a knot—leaving her neck bare, a few strands have come loose, haphazardly framing her face. She looks tired, she realizes.

A breeze of fresh nighttime air hits her in the face as she steps out onto the patio, the tiles cold underneath the soles of her feet. "You still there?"

"Yeah," Jake says, seeming farther away than he was just moments ago. "Still here."

Stella walks over to the pair of lounge chairs, slipping her phone from one hand into the other as she sinks into a crosslegged, straight-backed seat. Her gaze lingers at the dim moonlight hovering over the garden, shimmering against the surface of the lake where it stretches out far beyond the sloped lawn and its flowerbeds swaying in the soft wind.

"So," She says, drawing a circle with her finger on the navy cushion. "Are you feeling any older? Wiser?"

Jake blows out a breath. "Older, maybe," He pauses. "How did you know swimming's what you want to do?"

Mouth half-caught in a smile, Stella tips her cheeks into her hand. "Are you having an existential crisis?"

"I just.... I guess, lately, I feel like I have no idea what I want."

Again, Stella's heart slows—heavier in its beat. Faintly, not wanting to read too much into his words, she clears her throat. "I don't know," She says. "Swimming's just always been there, you know? But I guess– I guess why I've kept it up all these years is because on the good days, nothing can beat that feeling of getting into the water. And on the bad days, it still manages to feel better than most things. Does that make sense?"

"Yeah, it does."

"Are you having second thoughts? About school?"

"No. Yes. Sometimes."

"You've stuck it out this far, something about it must keep drawing you in."

"I mean, I'm good at it."

Despite herself, Stella senses her cheeks warm as they round with a smile. "He said humbly," Drawing a line in the cushion, she gazes out at the lake again. "For what it's worth—I think you'll make a great lawyer. But I wouldn't hold it against you if you decided to dip out."

Jake lets out a chortled breath. "That's oddly helpful, but also not helpful at all."

"It's okay if you don't know yet, you know. Or if you want it all—that's okay too," Stella says, pursing her lips. "I think it's very human to want lots of things for yourself while simultaneously feeling like you have no idea what you want at all."

Jake stays silent for a beat, as if considering her words. Then, voice genuine with curiosity, he asks, "What do you want? Besides all those olympic medals and your house on the water?"

A sigh-sounding exhale tickles Stella's lips as she ponders his question. "Another few seasons of The O.C.," She shifts in her seat, pulling her knees to her chest. "I don't care that it's been a decade or whatever, they should bring it back."

A soft laugh travels across the line, having Stella's eyes squeeze shut for one flickering moment. Her throat tightens with the twinge at her heart, wishing she could see his smile. She cannot let her mind drift there, cannot dive into those feelings. Not right now. Not without dealing with the confusion and hurt simmering around in there as well. Despite it all, in this moment, on the phone with Jake, she does—in a sense—feel at peace. And she wants to let it last a little while longer.

"What else?"

"Mental health," She finds herself saying, changing phone-holding hand as she scoots down against the backrest of the chair. "In athletes. And students. Student-athletes maybe. I'm not sure how, or what, but I'd like to use my degree to work in that field. On the side—or after I'm done with—swimming. I guess,"

She lets her mind wander, her words falling off her tongue with ease as she ponders aloud.

"I wouldn't mind kids one day. A few years ago I was hellbent on not wanting them, I just figure that wasn't for me. But now... it'd be nice, I think. But like far ahead. The far, far away future. A family, to fill the rooms of that house. Oh and one of those bathrooms! With the warm tiles for a floor, and two sinks—next to each other. I'd like that. I mean, before, all I used to care about was being the best of the best, and while that doesn't sound too bad, it'd be nice with a life that sometimes allowed me to just sit at home, reading a book, all day long."

"I don't think I've ever seen you read a book."

"Well, I could be one of those people who sit around reading books."

"I'm pretty sure you can do whatever you put your mind to."

"So can you," Stella says earnestly. "Whatever that turns out to be."

"Yeah, maybe. The warm tiles for a bathroom floor sounds nice."

"See! You do know what you want."

"Yeah, I–" Jake pauses as another voice appears in the background, and though the words are muffled, Stella overhears the one that matters: cake.

"I should let you go."

"What?"

"I'm keeping you from celebrating," Stella gathers herself with an inhale, the rise of her chest heavy. "But, uhm, I'm glad you called."

"Yeah," Jake exhales. "I am too."

"Happy birthday, again."

"Thanks."

Goosebumps trail up Stella's skin as a soft breeze passes her by and she rubs a palm over them as she listens to the silence stretching over the phone, to Jake's breaths in her ear. Then, eventually—voice small—she says, "I thought you were supposed to go have cake."

"I am."

She nods once, even though he can't see her, rolling her lips together. "I'm going to hang up now."

"Okay."

"Enjoy your night Jake."

With one quick flick of her finger, Stella disconnects their call—letting her phone come to rest against her sternum as she wraps her arms around herself and stares up at the clear, dark blue canvas of the sky above.

━ ♡♡♡ ━

Somehow, their conversation on Saturday night sets a trend and the next few days Jake and Stella continue to keep in touch. Exchanging texts. Casual chats over the phone. Catching up on small somethings and big nothings. Speaking normally. As if they never hurt one another at all.

Sometimes they're on the phone for a few minutes. While he cooks. While she's doing the dishes. Bidding one another a good morning-or night. Other times they stay on for hours—her phone plugged into its charger where she's sat on the floor, head leant back against the wall.

They're friends. She guesses. In a way. Yet, she cannot escape the sombre beat of her heart every time they talk, cannot ignore the flutter threatening to swell in her chest every time Jake laughs. In those moments, she worries friends will never seem enough. Not when she's already glimpsed what more than friends could look like, what it could be.

Yet, here she is, stood leant against the kitchen counter in the dead of night—the house bathing in darkness around her. Glass of water in one hand, blue light of her phone-screen staring up at her from the other. Her thumb hovers over Faye's name, then slowly drifts to the one underneath it instead. She presses her teeth into her bottom lip as she contemplates whether or not she should tap her finger to it. Something twists in her gut—demanding—and before she knows it, Stella lifts the phone to her ear, listening to the slow tones as it rings.

A sleepy, somewhat concerned, drawl sounds as soon as the call connects. "Stells?"

"I woke you up," Stella tips her head back, gazing up at the ceiling as that twist in her gut ignites with guilt. "Shit, I'm sorry. I should just let you get back to–"

"No no, it's fine," Jake says, sounding more awake. She hears the faint rustle of sheets, then the flick of a lamp. "I'm here. What's up?"

Stella lifts the glass of water to her lips and takes a small sip, her skin no longer as clammy from the cold sweat she woke up in as she weighs back on her feet—beginning to feel foolish for calling Jake in the first place.

She sighs. "I woke up and then I couldn't fall back asleep so I–..."

A hint of understanding weaves through Jake's words. "Want to talk about them?"

"No," Stella shakes her head as she sets the glass of water down, flattening her palm over her still racing heart. "They're not real."

Especially not the twisted ones—the ones messing with what is real. The ones who take away the small sense of peace she does hold in her hands.

"No they're not," Jake agrees, his tone both gentle and determined at once. "So, since we're both up... should we watch Flicka?"

Stella's lips slip into a small smile. "Together?"

"Yeah."

"We're not in the same place."

The words hurt, nestling their way into the space beneath her breastbone where her feelings are already crowding—fighting for room to breathe, to become a little lighter.

"If they can make it work in the movies, we can make it work now," Jake says and Stella imagines the smile dancing over his lips, causing her smile to widen as well. "Come on."

"Okay, wait,"

Back upstairs, she reaches for her laptop where it lies balanced on a stack of magazines on her dresser and slides under the floral covers over her bed. The steady rhythm of Jake's breath in her ear serves as a comfortable reminder she's not alone as she shuffles around, fluffing her pillows and getting the film open with a few taps and clicks of her keyboard.

"Okay I'm ready," She says. "Are you ready?"

"I was born ready," Jake says, having Stella gently roll her eyes. "Press play on three?"

"Yeah."

Stella sinks back against the headboard with a small exhale, feeling lighter as she listens to Jake humming along to the '20th Century Fox'-intro. The first scene of the film begins to play seconds later—something comfortable, yet melancholic fluttering against Stella's ribcage as the familiar scenery fills the screen.

"Why do you even like this movie so much?" Jake asks. "You're scared of horses."

Slightly affronted, Stella's mouth falls open with a breath of disbelief. "I'm not scared of horses!"

"Uh yeah, you are. Remember the time Andrea dragged us to that race track and you wanted to go on the pony-ride and–"

"Okay so maybe I was a little bit scared, but I'm sure I wouldn't be today."

Stella's breath catches in her throat as Jake laughs—the sound short and faint, as if to himself. An unprompted tug of fondness pulls at her heartstrings at the familiar sound, her cheeks rounding with a smile.

"We waited in line forever and then you barely got onto the horse before wailing about wanting to come back down."

"It wasn't that bad."

"It was."

Stella shakes her head, an amused curl to her lips. "Just watch the movie."

"Ay ay," A beat of silence passes before Jake clears his throat. "You know we're both going to cry, right?"

"Yeah, but it'll be cathartic."

"If you say so."

"Jake?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. I'm sorry I woke you up in the middle of the night but I– I appreciate this, so thank you."

"You can wake me up anytime."

 With a small smile, Stella nods even though Jake can't see her, scooting down into her pillows.

They watch the next forty minutes or so of the movie in near silence, a few comments snuck in here and there, but then Jake's voice echoes over the line again.

"Stells?"

Stella shifts in her seat, laptop balanced against her thighs. "Mhm?"

"I miss you."

Closing her eyes, Stella presses her fingers to the dip between her collarbones—attempting to soothe the ache burning her throat. "Yeah, I know," She bats her eyes open, met with the kind gaze of the black mare onscreen. "Me too."

. . . 

hi hello my friends!

I hope you're all doing well on this September day <3

would love to hear your thoughts on the story so far! (I have to admit sometimes I feel like I have no idea what I'm doing but I'm fairly certain that's just part of the process) and would also just like to let you know I appreciate every single one of you. so. much.

well, I'm going to go make myself (another) cup of tea now

much love always,

linn