He Married Her While I Waited at the Altar, I Called My Mother While She Called Me Back Chapter 07
“Stella, right? To be honest, you were our top candidate three years ago.”
The director in Bayview City smiled at me over the video call.
The office on his end was bright, with a sprawling skyline visible through the floor-to-ceiling
windows.
He flipped through my file, a hint of genuine regret in his tone.
“When you turned down the offer, I was pretty surprised. We hired a few people after that, but none of them quite worked out.”
“It was for personal reasons.”
“And now?”
“Now, there are no personal reasons anymore.”
He glanced at me, didn’t press further, and nodded.
“You start on Monday. The company will cover your flight and a hotel for the transition period. Just report straight to HR when you arrive.”
Riley had been listening in the whole time. As soon as the video call ended, she jumped up.
“$300,000 a year! Stella, you’re about to take off!”
“Let’s just get there first. Don’t hype it up too much; it hurts more if I fall.”
She scoffed, then put her head down and continued stuffing things into my suitcase.
The night before I left, we ate takeout in her living room.
A Loaded Spicy Tex-Mex plate, extra large, with the spice level cranked all the way up.
I never dared to eat this when I was with Julian. He frowned at the sight of anything spicy, saying it
was bad for my stomach.
Now, there was no one around to frown.
I was sweating as I ate. Just as I was reaching for a napkin, my phone rang.
It was an unknown number, and the caller ID showed it was from Maplewood.
picked up.
The other end was silent for two seconds.
Then came my mom’s voice.
It sounded muffled, like she was holding something back, terrified of breaking the moment she
spoke.
“Where are you?”
“Silverstone. I’m flying to Bayview City tomorrow.”
“What are you going there for?”
“For work.”
She went silent.
I could hear a TV in the background on her end; it sounded like the weather forecast.
It sounded distant, as if coming from behind a wall.
It took her a long time to speak again.
“Your dad says… you should come home before you leave.”
My nose instantly started to sting.
My knuckles turned white from gripping my fork.
“Didn’t he say he didn’t have a daughter anymore?”
“Don’t you know how stubborn he is?”
Her voice suddenly cracked, like sandpaper rubbing against a table.
“After he got discharged from the hospital, he looked through your old award certificates every single day. He pulled them out of the cabinet one by one, wiping them down with a damp cloth over and over again. The honor roll certificate from middle school had a crease in the corner, and he
tried ironing it out three times. When it wouldn’t flatten, he got so frustrated he slammed his hand
on the table.”
I crouched on the floor, burying my face in my arms.
Riley put her fork down.
The living room was completely silent, except for my mom’s voice slowly trickling through the
receiver.
“Mom, I was wrong.”
“You should admit you were wrong.”
She paused again.
“But you also need to come home.”
The call disconnected.
I stayed crouched there, tears streaming down my arms and dripping onto the floor.
Riley didn’t say a word. She pulled half a pack of tissues from the coffee table, placed it next to my
hand, then quietly went back to sitting on the couch, slowly sipping her lukewarm soda.
She didn’t say anything.
But her “not saying anything” was more helpful than any words could have been.
I cried for a long time before I stopped.
I wiped my face, went to wash it with cold water, and the eyes looking back in the mirror were
swollen into thin slits.
On the day of my departure, Riley took me to the airport.
We hit morning rush hour traffic all the way there. She sat in the back seat hugging my chipped
suitcase so it wouldn’t roll around in the trunk.
When we got to the departures hall, she walked me all the way to the security checkpoint.
I turned back to look at her.
She was wearing sunglasses, probably so I wouldn’t see her cry.
As I was about to go through security, I caught a glimpse of the arrivals hall out of the corner of my
eye.
In the crowd stood a figure in a gray coat.
Tall and thin, standing perfectly straight.
He was holding a piece of printer paper, with one name written on it.
Stella.
It was Julian.
He was looking for me.
But he was standing at the arrivals gate.
Not departures.
He assumed I had left in a fit of pique and that after a couple of days to cool off, I’d book a domestic flight straight back.
So he didn’t wait at departures.
He waited at arrivals.
For three years, he had always assumed I would come back.
He thought my anger would never last long. He thought my leaving was just a stunt, and that I
would inevitably return to my spot washing his dishes, ironing his clothes, and paying off his
mortgage.
I pulled the brim of my hat down, looked away, and handed my boarding pass to the security agent.
The machine beeped, and the gate opened.
I walked through.
When the plane landed in Bayview City, it was 8:40 p.m.
Outside the window was a sea of lights, glowing completely differently from Silverstone.
When I turned on my phone, my new number was perfectly clean, with no missed calls.
Riley had sent a message.
“He waited at the airport for six hours. From morning until dark, he stared at the exit for every arriving flight. The whole day, he didn’t see you.”
She sent another one.
‘He posted an Instagram Story. Just an empty arrivals hall with stark white lighting, and a single word for the caption: Waiting.”
Riley sent one last voice memo.
I hesitated for a moment, but tapped play anyway.
Her voice sounded muffled, like she was covering her mouth.
“Stella, he cried at the airport. Mason’s friend happened to walk by and took a picture. He was
crouching by the planter box outside the arrivals gate, covering his face.”
I put my phone on my lap, facing the window.
The taxi drove down the highway, and the streetlights on both sides flashed by one after another.
The orange light flickered against the car window, like pages of an old book turning.
It wasn’t that I felt sorry for him.
It was that the version of me from the past three years-who always said “okay,” who never
complained, who kept her head down and smiled even when called a clown-finally deserved to be
felt sorry for.
She had waited too long.
It was time to move on.