One particularly lonely night, months after her and Penny's breakup, overcome with old regrets, Callie couldn't bear it any longer. She rolled toward her nightstand and unplugged her charging phone.
She didn't care how late it was. She wanted answers. So she tapped on the first name on her speed dial and put the phone to her ear, listening to the ring and praying that Arizona would pick up. She felt her heart speed up in nervous anticipation. What am I doing? Being impulsive, certainly. But even acknowledging that didn't make her hang up.
"Callie?" Arizona picked up on the third ring, a tinge of worry in her tone.
"Hey," Callie breathed. It sounded almost like a sigh of relief—as if, suddenly, at the sound of Arizona's voice, all her pain had abated.
"Hey." Arizona's eyebrows knit together and she set down the newspaper she had been reading. It wasn't like Callie to call so late. Sometimes she called to say goodnight to Sofia, but their daughter had gone to bed hours ago. "Are you okay?"
"Me?" Callie wondered. "I'm…okay."
"Okay…" Arizona waited for Callie to say more.
Callie stayed silent, not sure what to say now that they were actually talking.
"It's, um." Arizona looked down at her watch. "Isn't it two in the morning in New York?" Then, she had a sudden realization: "You're drunk."
"What?" Callie balked.
"Callie, you can't d-"
"No!" Callie quickly interrupted. "Arizona, I'm not drunk! I didn't just drunk-dial you. I know we don't talk too often but…" she paused. "I'm not drunk. That's not why I called."
On the other side of the country, Arizona's lips pursed as she carefully considered her ex-wife's words. She felt on edge, somehow. And simultaneously comforted. It had been years since the divorce, but her feelings for Callie were as big and confusing as ever.
And it was late. And Callie had called her. And she feared that those big feelings were about to become even more confusing. Still, she couldn't help herself. In almost a whisper, she wondered, "Why did you call, then?"
Callie, sitting up in bed now, twisted a loose thread from her quilt around her finger, building up the courage to answer. Finally, she replied with a question of her own: "Do you know what today is?"
Arizona felt her heart accelerate in her chest. So Callie remembers, too, she thought. Still, she only sassed, "Saturday?"
"No," Callie sighed, disappointed that Arizona didn't remember. Not that she should, she reminded herself. "Well, I mean, yes," she corrected herself, still worrying the thread with her fingers. "Though, technically, it's now Sunday for me," she tried to joke—to hide her pain.
And Arizona saw through the façade. She knew Callie; she knew her inside and out. And, because of that, she heard Callie's pain. And she couldn't bear it.
So she tore down what little was left of her protective walls.
"It is Saturday, but it's not just Saturday," she whispered. "It's also our anniversary."
Callie's eyes shot up from the quilt, her fingers stilling at hearing unexpected words. "You remembered."
Arizona tried to chuckle, and it came out sounding more like a sob. "I don't think it's something I'll ever forget."
Callie hummed in agreement. "Yeah. It's crazy. Seven years."
"Most of which we've spent apart," Arizona regretfully reminded her.
"Right," Callie lamented. "That's even crazier."
Arizona shrugged, hoping that, if she acted indifferent, she'd feel indifferent, too. "We both made our choices."
They were quiet for a moment, each woman thinking of the other, and of their time together, and of the time they'd missed.
Then, Callie prompted, "Arizona?"
"Hmm?"
"Speaking of choices…why did you let me run off with Blake, anyway?" she wondered. "I mean, you were more supportive than anyone else."
"I tried to be," Arizona agreed thoughtfully.
Callie waited.
"I just…I wanted you to have somebody," Arizona continued. "So I was glad when you found someone. Even if it couldn't be me."
"She wasn't you," Callie agreed. Then, her voice turned solemn. "Not even close. That ended up being the problem." She tried to laugh, but her weak attempt was interrupted by the sound of Arizona exhaling a tremulous breath.
"Callie…" Arizona pleaded, though she wasn't sure whether it was for Callie to stop talking or to continue. Maybe a little of both.
"You know that's all I've ever wanted for you, too," Callie continued, her voice gentle. "For you to find someone you can love and trust, and who makes you happy."
"I did," Arizona insisted, forcing herself to take a risk. She trusted Callie, after all. She loved her. And Callie made her happy. "I married her seven years ago."
Callie's pulse began to jackhammer in her ears at those words, and she breathed, "Yeah. Me, too."
Arizona heard the smile in Callie's voice, and that made her brave. "Callie, the only someone I've ever really wanted is you."
This time, it was Callie whose breath caught in her throat. "I want to be yours again," she began. "And I want you. Maybe it's time…" she trailed off, not wanting to make any false assumptions or leave Arizona feeling cornered.
But Arizona felt freer than she had in a long time, and she finished the thought. "Maybe it's time you come home to me."
"Arizona…" Callie breathed, hearing the heavy weight of her ex-wife's words. "I love you, but…" She paused. "If I pack up my stuff right now and get on a plane tomorrow, will you really…take me back? Just like that?"
Arizona's lips curled up. She was amazed how, somehow, Callie still had no idea how much she wanted her, how entirely she loved her and always had. She vowed to spend the rest of her life proving it. "I'll be the woman waiting at your terminal. With open arms."