Page 28 of Room to Breathe

“Your AirPods! You were listening to music when you came in.”

His eyes went wide. “I forgot.” He must’ve been as shocked to see me as I was to see him, if we’d both forgotten about his earbuds. He retrieved them from his pocket. “Entertainment.”

“No,” I said. “Not entertainment. Siri.”

“Siri?”

“I know you have her set up.” Because Beau wasn’t the type to tap the Set Up Later option. He did everything all the way through. Perfectly. I had never gotten to the step of setting up Siri—I had been too impatient. Too ready to start using my phone.

“Yeah, but my phone is out there.” He pointed to the door. “Zipped inside my backpack.”

“Can’t you tap on your earbud and, I don’t know, tell your phone to call someone?”

“I can turn my music back on with my earbud…maybe…we’ve been in here for a while—not sure that app is still open. But Music and Siri aren’t the same program. I don’t think Siri will be able to hear me from in here.”

I dried my hands on the back of my jeans, too excited about this new thought to worry about paper towels. I ran over to the door and pressed my face to the crack. “Hey Siri!” I yelled, then turned back to him. He was still leaning against the counter holding his AirPods.

I waved my hand at him. “Put them in.”

“This isn’t going to work.”

“Just try!”

He put the buds in his ears and tapped on the right one. They let out a chime noise. I nodded in excitement. “Music,” he said too loudly.

“That’s good! Now tell Siri to call someone.”

“Hey Siri,” he said. “Call Ava.”

Ava’s name made my throat tighten, but I held my breath waiting to see if it worked.

He shook his head. “Nothing. Still music. It might’ve worked if these were the newer version.”

I curled my lip and groaned. He took out the earbuds.

“Okay,” I said. “So she can’t hear you through the earbuds? Then come over here and scream through the door. She’s not trained to my voice.”

He sighed but walked over to the door next to me. I didn’t step back fast enough and his shoulder brushed mine. I sucked ina breath and he gave me a sideways look before putting his face close to the crack in the door and yelling, “Hey Siri!”

We were both still as we listened for any response. I wondered whether we’d hear her if she answered. He tried again, “Hey Siri! Call Caroline!”

Another tug in my chest, but no noise. Nothing.

“Hey Siri!” I yelled as loud as I could.

“Hey Siri!” he yelled even louder, a smirk coming onto his face.

“Siri, you little punk! I know you can hear us!”

He laughed this time. “Siri, you’re going to be in big trouble when we get out of here!”

“I swear she’s doing this on purpose,” I said, laughing with him.

“You don’t trust Siri?” he asked.

“No! You do?”

He laughed again and turned his back to the door, leaning his head against it. I did the same. We were now shoulder to shoulder. I wanted to stay mad at him. I wassomad at him. But I also could no longer deny, without the distance we’d forced ourselves into over the past two months, that I missed him so much. More than I realized. But missing him wouldn’t fix anything. It was easier to be mad. Because the alternative was sad. And I was worried sad might destroy me. I’d been holding back that feeling for a long time. I’d been holding back a lot of feelings for a long time. The only one I had let flourish over the past several months was anger. And it had flourished. It had blossomed and bloomed and become beautiful.