Where I End and You Begin by Andra Brynn Page B

my phone out and scroll through the names, trying to find someone that I wouldn’t mind seeing right now, but there are none. I’m so tired, so embarrassed. I just don’t want to be like this right now, maybe never again.
    A name slips by that makes me frown. And pause.
    Daniel McGuire.
    It takes me a minute to remember just who he is and why his name is in my phone. The handsome graduate student whose shoes I almost threw up on.
    I chew my tongue.
    He said to call him any time of the day or night and he would answer. He’s already seen me at my worst, or close to it. Of course he didn’t mean for my drunk ass to take that as an open invitation to use him as a shuttle service, but right now I need a friendly face, and his is the friendliest I’ve met since... well, ever.
    Without really meaning to, I dial his number and hold it up to my ear.
    The phone rings. I run a hand over my face.
    Should I hang up? I should hang up before he answers. But shit, he’ll know it was me, because he has my number too...
    And then he answers.
    “Hello?”
    There is an echo. A strange, queer sound. As though I am hearing Daniel’s voice here with me outside the bar as well as over the line.
    “Hello?” I say.
    “Bianca?” he says. Again the echo. I pull the phone away from my ear and look hard at it, my distress pushed into the background by overwhelming confusion.
    “Bianca?”
    I blink. The voice didn’t come from the phone. Slowly I turn, teetering on my feet, to see Daniel McGuire lounging not twenty feet away against the brick facade of the bar. A cigarette dangles from his fingers, the cherry brilliant in the dark, his face a nightmare of clashing colors in the neon light. He’s staring at me with his mouth open, his phone pressed to his ear.
    In a daze, I turn my phone off.
    “I was just calling you,” I say.
    A smile flits across his face as he lowers his own phone. “I know,” he says. “Any particular reason?”
    I blink. My eyes feel hot, as though I were about to cry. But I never cry. I won’t cry.
    “No,” I say. Then, “Yes.”
    He pushes away from the brick wall, his tall, lean body all delicious, all restrained. He’s wearing fine slacks and a white button-up under a fitted sport coat. If we’d just met, I would have wanted to hook up with him.
    But I can’t. I’m tired of fucking up my life.
    “What’s wrong?” he asks, and his face is again all concern, all gentle thoughtfulness. He’s not thinking of anything but helping me.
    I want to fall into him, but I don’t.
    “I don’t know where I am,” I say. “I’m drunk. I don’t know where my ride is. I have to get back to my dorm, but I don’t have any money, I can’t call a cab, and I know you said it was to talk, but I... I just don’t want to call anyone I know, I just want to go home— ”
    He holds his hands out, as though placating me. “It’s okay,” he says. “I told you to call me any time of day or night.” He smiles “I said I wanted to help you. I don’t get to pick how. Don’t worry. I’ll take you home. I hate this kind of place. I’m just the designated driver for my friends. I’ll give you a ride.”
    I want to hit him. He’s too kind. Someone is going to hurt him some day.
    He moves toward me and stops just a few feet away. He’s so tall.
    “I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to call you, it was just a stupid thought, I don’t want to bother you if you’re out with friends...”
    “Don’t worry,” he says again. “ They can afford a cab. They’ll be fine.”
    I try one last time. “I didn’t mean to call you for this...it’s stupid...”
    But he’s shaking his head. “I’m here. You meant to call me, and here I am, right where you need me. Hey, pretty good timing on my part. We must have met for a reason, eh?”
    I think about it.
    “Yes,” I say. “Yes, we did.”

.0.
    T here are reasons people meet. Of course there are. But the reasons aren’t because we are meant to do something,