Finally he lands on, “Hi. Do you remember Andreas? The antique dealer?”
“Yes. What a sweet man. Please don’t tell me he’s dead.”
“No! He’s getting married. An instant wedding. He wants me to play.”
“Of course he does.”
Don’t say it like that. Why do you have to say it like that?
“I talked to the couple today—I think you’d like her. Now I have about seventeen hours to write them a song.”
“So you called me for inspiration?”
I don’t need to call you for that. Right now you’re underneath every thought I have about love.
“I called because it’s been over a week since we talked.”
I miss you.
“It’s been so busy here. I can’t explain it to you—I’m not even sure I can explain it to myself. At any given moment, there are a hundred things to do, and I’m lucky if I get to one of them each day. It’s a barrage, and the scary part is that everyone thinks I know what I’m doing, and I sense that if they knew how out of my zone I am, everything would fall apart.”
“That sounds very stressful.”
“You could say that.”
Don’t fight. Please, let’s not fight.
“It was wonderful to see Andreas so happy. After the disaster of the cake wedding, it’s a relief to see two people who only care about each other, and not how everyone else will see them. Because no one else will be there. Well, except for the officiant and me.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I’m just telling you something that happened today. Are we not doing that anymore?”
There is a long pause. He can hear V take a deep breath, then exhale.
“No. I’m sorry. I’m just feeling very burned out right now. I am a puddle of wax and the ashy remains of the wick.”
“Whatever’s happening between us,” J ventures, “I still want us to talk. Talking to each other is our thing.”
As he says this, it rings true, and it rings false. True because they do love to talk. False because they love to talk face-to-face. They are crap at everything else.
V surprises him by saying, “It is our thing. And, believe me, I wish I had that in me right now. Which leaves us at the same impasse.”
“Okay. I’ll stop.”
There’s another pause, as if V is checking the clock, or maybe changing the channel on the TV in the background.
“So,” she says, finally, “Andreas is getting married. Is that why you called?”
I need to see you.
I need us to be in the same place.
“No,” J says. “I actually called to tell you I’m coming to New York.”
It feels right to say this, even if it surprises him as much as it (hopefully?) surprises her.
“When?”
