*Ding ding*
I have been on my couch for a few hours, catching up with friends. Jokes interspersed with laments about this or that. I glance at my phone, knowing what a text from him or him or him means at this time.
“Hey…how ya been?”
How does one answer that question when they haven’t heard from someone in months. ”Good!” “Ya know, working on myself…” ”Still alive.”
I shouldn’t respond, but I negotiate with myself the right amount of time to wait and I do just that.
“Oh, ya know. Kicking ass, breaking hearts.”
I can’t help myself. I cringe at accepting this base level of validation, but the empty bottles of wine egg me on.
He responds quickly. I can hear his speech slur through the screen. He asks what I am doing. What bar I am at. If I am alone.
I should step away, tell him to buzz off. Sometimes I do. Not tonight. I take the small sliver of attention, drink it in. I don’t feel anything when it comes to him, but for half a second he makes me feel wanted.
I walk to the bathroom. Look at myself in the mirror. Pull at a grey hair, notice the faint red glow of Cabernet on my teeth. I scrub my face.
In the other room, my phone vibrates.
*Ding ding*
“Wanna hang out?”
*Ding ding*
“Can I come over?”
*Ding ding*
“I miss you.”
And that last one snaps me back to reality. I’ve never had much tolerance for liars. Be honest about what you want.
I reply.
“I am tired. Good night.”
I am so fucking tired.
*Ding ding*
*Ding ding*
*Ding ding*
*Ding ding*
My phone nudges itself off the nightstand as I fall asleep.
The morning is always better.
