I close my eyes.
“Of course you did.”
She goes quiet for a moment.
Then, softer, “You miss him.”
I lean back against the sofa.
“I miss the hamster,” I say.
“Liar.”
I say nothing.
Across an ocean, my sister waits me out.
“I haven’t spoken to him in a month,” I admit eventually.
“And now he’s in your living room.”
I stare at the phone.
At the image of Mark’s sofa.
Mark’s chest.
Heath in his ridiculous hat.
She is right.
That is exactly what this feels like.
Not memory.
Presence.
Sophie says, “Are you going to message him?”
I should say no.
Instead I hear myself ask, “Would that be a terrible idea?”
“Yes.”
I wait.
Then she adds, “But less terrible than staring at his nipples for the next six hours.”
I open my eyes.
“I hate you.”
“You zoomed in.”
I hang up on her.
Then I sit there in silence, Instagram still open, Mark still shirtless, Heath still furious.
