He turned as if to go, but something in me resisted the end of the exchange. I hurried inside, rummaged in the closet, and came back with an old raincoat.
“Take this,” I said, holding it out. “You’ll catch your death out there in this storm.”
Ryan blinked, surprised, then accepted it with a shy smile.
“You must be such a caring mom or grandma.”
The words hit me like a slap. “I don’t have children.”
Ryan’s smile faltered. He mumbled a quiet ‘thank you’ and hurried back into the rain. I closed the door slowly, holding the warm pizza box in my hands, but feeling suddenly colder than before.
As I sat down at the table, I couldn’t help but think. Maybe if I hadn’t made one terrible mistake all those years ago, my life would not be so empty at that moment.
The next Saturday, I stood by the door at 5:59 p.m., just like always.
Six o’clock came, but no one rang the bell. I frowned, glanced at the clock, and told myself Ryan was probably running late.
Five minutes passed, then ten. I paced the hallway, checking the window every few seconds.
Outside, the storm was raging, lightning slicing across the sky, but Ryan had delivered in worse weather before. By the time forty minutes had crawled by, worry gnawed at me.
I went into the kitchen and pulled an old pizza box from the recycling bin. On the side was a phone number for the pizzeria. My fingers trembled as I dialed.
A young woman answered with the cheerful, rehearsed tone of customer service.
“This is Maya. How can I help you?”
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