(Ronnie) My hero
(Nev) Go to sleep.
(Ronnie) Miss you
(Nev) No you don’t. I don’t do codependent shite.
Ronnie didn’t answer. Eventually her phone vibrated again.
(Nev) Sorry. There was nothing wrong with what you wrote. I miss you, too. Ennio Morricone and champagne make me emotional.
(Ronnie) What’s the occasion? Are we celebrating?
(Nev) Not exactly.
Oh right. May was dicey for Nev, a continuation of April, heavy with anniversaries. The genocide had lasted one hundred days. Ronnie had read that somewhere.
(Ronnie) Sorry
(Nev) No worries.
(Ronnie) Wish I was there
(Nev) Enjoy your kid. She’s growing up too fast.
(Ronnie) Love you
Ronnie waited, holding her breath, resisting the urge to touch the black screen in her hand until after it vibrated. She felt silly for waiting. Her brain felt like a free throw from the sideline, frozen in mid-air. Her phone buzzed.
(Nev) Love you.
The ball unfroze, play resumed.
Reg came in and kissed her head. He had been doing that lately, which would annoy her normally, but for the moment it was nice. “Who are you texting?”
Ronnie set the phone on the bedside table.
“Ah,” Reg said. He sat on the bed. “We like her. Is she emotionally available, though?”
Ronnie shrugged.
Reg rubbed her feet. “You guys talk about ex-boyfriends or girlfriends?”
She shook her head.
He raised his eyebrows. “Friends talk about that stuff.”
“Nev doesn’t.”
“Maybe she’s asexual.”
“I doubt it.”
“You might want to ask her. Before you go too far down that road.”
Ronnie shrugged. Her dad hadn’t grilled her like this about any of her casual hookups.
“You guys have been getting a lot closer recently. You’ve been focusing on her instead of asking Maude how she feels about giving you your parental rights back. It’s a distraction. You’re procrastinating.”
