Chapter 160: ~ 160
Chapter 160
~ Clinton ~
I had shut both women out of my life long enough. It was time to reach out.
I sat alone at a quiet corner table in my favorite restaurant, picking at my lunch without much appetite. The clink of silverware and low hum of conversations around me faded into the background as I stared at my phone. Octavia’s name stared back at me. After everything that had happened, I owed her a proper conversation.
I dialed her number. Once. Twice. Three times. Four. No answer. Each unanswered ring tightened something in my chest. Was she angry with me? She had every right to be—we hadn’t spoken in what felt like forever. On the fifth attempt, I was ready to give up and accept that maybe she needed space to focus on her recovery.
Just as I moved my thumb toward the end call button, the line clicked open.
There was a long pause. I could hear her soft breathing on the other end, cautious and guarded. She didn’t speak first, and I suddenly remembered why. The last time she had called, Annie had answered my phone. Octavia was waiting for me to say something.
"Octavia... it’s me," I said gently.
"Clinton?" Her voice carried a mix of surprise and hesitation.
"Yeah, it’s me."
"Okay." She cleared her throat. "Good morning."
"Good morning. How have you been since we last saw each other?"
"I’ve been good... getting better, actually. What about you? How have you been?"
"I’ve been okay too," I replied, keeping my tone light.
"Good." A brief pause stretched between us. "Um... the last time I called, someone else picked up. A woman. She sounded... strict. I thought maybe she was your girlfriend and she wasn’t happy that you had a close female friend, so—"
"I know," I cut in softly.
"You know? That I called and she answered?" Octavia’s voice shifted, a hint of hurt slipping through.
"Yes. I was in the shower when you called. My phone was with her, so I couldn’t pick up. I’m sorry about that."
"Wait... hold on. You were in the shower, and she was the one who answered?"
"Yes," I admitted, clearing my throat.
"Oh." Another pause. "So that means she was in your apartment with you."
"Um...yes."
"That means the woman I spoke to must be your girlfriend," she concluded, her tone careful but pointed.
"She’s not my girlfriend, Octavia," I sighed.
"I shouldn’t even be asking this—it’s not my place—but who is she?"
"She’s my..." I hesitated, searching for the right words. "She’s my childhood friend. I’ve known her for years. She and her sister are the daughters of my family’s longtime housekeeper—the woman who basically taught me how to cook. She came over that morning, that’s all."
"Okay," Octavia said finally, though she didn’t sound entirely convinced.
"But if she is your girlfriend, you don’t have to hide it from me, Clinton."
"She’s not," I repeated firmly. "I promise."
"Alright." Her voice softened. "I called that day to thank you."
"Thank me for what?"
"For helping to rescue me. My mother told me it was you and Franklin who brought me back to the hospital. So...thank you, Clinton."
"You’re very welcome," I said, a small smile tugging at my lips. I heard her soft chuckle on the other end.
"So, how’s everything else?" I asked.
"Everything is fine..actually, there’s something I want to tell you."
I leaned forward in my seat, curiosity piqued. "What is it?"
"I remember everything now."
My eyes widened. "Everything?"
"Yes. I remember us being friends—how we met at that tech networking event, the long walks where we talked about everything and nothing, how you told me your favorite food is sushi, the way we teased each other constantly. I remember you meeting Nola for the first time, us watching Dr. No from 1962 on my laptop, you mimicking Dr. No’s voice perfectly. I even remember the night you rescued me from my stalker and stayed over because you didn’t want me to be alone and scared. I remember every single memory of you, Clinton."
I sat speechless for several seconds, the weight of her words sinking in. I had known her memories would return eventually, but hearing her list them out so tenderly—every shared moment, every small detail—left me stunned.
"Wow... I don’t know what to say. I’m speechless," I finally managed.
"I guess it’s a lot to take in," she chuckled lightly.
"Like you have no idea."
"I’m really glad you remembered us, Octavia. Truly."
"Me too," she said, warmth returning to her voice.
"Am I allowed to come see you at the hospital?" I asked. "I spoke with Franklin the other day, and he said now wasn’t a good time—especially with everything that’s happened."
"He said that?" Octavia asked, surprise evident.
"Yes. I mean, I understood. He wasn’t in the best mood—"
"He’s never really in a good mood when it comes to talking to you, Clinton," she interjected.
I sighed. "Did you hear about what happened to his grandfather?"
She hesitated before answering. "Yeah... my mother told me. I felt so sad when I heard. I saw him, Clinton. Frederick looked so pale and completely still, lying there in that hospital bed. I wish he hadn’t joined the rescue. I feel like it’s my fault."
"Hey, hey—don’t say that," I said quickly. "It’s not your fault, okay? It just happened. And I believe he’s going to be okay. Eventually."
"That’s what I keep telling myself too... but when I picture him like that—so unresponsive—I start doubting whether he’ll ever wake up. It scares me."
"He will wake up soon, Octavia. Just like you did. So don’t carry that guilt. Okay?"
"Okay. Thank you," she whispered.
"You’re welcome."
There was a brief, comfortable silence before she spoke again. "I got discharged a few days ago. Just thought you should know."
"Wow. A lot happened while I was keeping my distance," I said.
She chuckled. "Well, you were the one who stayed away despite Franklin’s strict rules about not visiting me."
"Maybe," I admitted with a small shrug she couldn’t see.
The real question now was whether it was safe for me to see her in person.
"I’m staying at my parents’ apartment in Soho until I’m fully recovered," she added. "So if you decide you want to see me... that’s where I’ll be."
"Okay," I said, committing the information to memory.
"I miss working, but my parents scolded me not to touch anything work-related until I’m one hundred percent better."
"They’re right. Your recovery has to come first. That’s the priority right now."
"I know," she sighed. "I’m glad you’re okay, Clinton."
"I’m glad you’re okay too, Octavia."
"I gotta go—I want to help my mom with an early lunch."
"Alright. It was really good hearing your voice."
"It was good hearing yours too. Bye, Clinton."
"Bye."
The call ended, and I leaned back in my chair, a renewed sense of hope settling over me. Somehow, everything felt like it might be okay again.
Now came the harder part—talking to Annie. That conversation would be far more difficult, but I was determined to face it.
