By late morning, I still haven’t heard from him.
A knot forms in my gut.
Have I pushed too far?
Have I said something wrong?
I squeeze into the back row of a yoga class, hoping to clear my mind.
No such luck.
I check my messages.
Still no Marco.
This isn’t like him.
Usually sweet messages and calls pepper my day, even if work is chaotic.
I try calling, but it goes to voicemail.
You left your hoodie at my place last night,I text.
As if that’s out of the ordinary.
Still no reply.
My mind is numb all afternoon as I ink one client after another.
“See ya on Thursday, Von,” I wave. “No more bookings til then?”
I already know the answer.
“Nope, you can sleep in tomorrow,” she smiles. “Got a guest artist arriving from Sydney.”
I share the space occasionally, to give myself some work life balance.
On days like this, it preserves my sanity.
I love my job.
But life, and lately love, will always come first.
The studio door clicks shut behind me.
Making my way home, I dread the possibility of an empty bed.
Not so long ago, I loved having a bed all to myself.
Lately, not so much.
I reheat a bowl of leftovers.
But before the microwave pings, my phone lights up.
Him.
I’ve spent all day waiting to see that name on my screen.
