Mark does not answer immediately.
Then, “Yeah.”
Neither of us moves to hang up.
Of course not.
Because we are now those people.
The ones who linger at the edge of goodbye like idiots.
“Philip?”
“Yeah?”
I grip the phone tighter.
Mark exhales.
When he speaks, his voice is low enough that I almost don’t hear it.
“I’m glad you called.”
My chest pulls so sharply it is almost painful.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Me too.”
Another beat.
Then he says, trying for lighter and not quite getting there, “Tell your sister to stop stalking my rodent.”
I snort.
“I’ll pass on the message.”
“Good.”
“Goodnight, Mark.”
A pause.
Then, softer, “Night, Philip.”
The line clicks dead.
I keep the phone at my ear for several seconds after the call ends.
As if lowering it will make everything we just said real in a way I am not prepared to handle.
Eventually I set it down on the desk.
The office is silent.
My reflection in the window looks like someone whose own bullshit has finally stopped working.
I stare at it.
Then at the photo frame on my screen.
