No. But I want to be.
I thought you’d want to know I’m here.
Now I know.
Is something wrong?
Why don’t people ever ask, “Is something right?”
Do you want me to ask that?
No. I want to go to sleep.
J wanted to askAre you mad at me? But he knew that the question itself could be perceived as an act of aggression. Because he was tired, he thought maybe if he dressed it up, made it a little less serious, if would float more easily over the transom.
Are you irate with me? he asked.
Yes.
Why?
Don’t do this. Don’t force this conversation.
What conversation?
Thirty seconds went by. A minute.
It was unbearable.
J called V.
She didn’t pick up.
Please pick up,he texted.
He tried again.
Seriously. You have me worried now. Please pick up.
This time, she answered.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked immediately.
“Is it so bad that I want you to know I’m in the same city as you? In the hope that I will get to see you?”
“J, you were just here.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
He hears something in the background. A voice.
“Is someone there?” he asked.
“George Clooney,” V replied. “And Brad Pitt. And Julia Roberts. And even Don Cheadle. Are you jealous?”
“So it’s the TV.”
“Seriously, it’s time for bed. I’m sure you have a wedding thing tomorrow.”
