Page 99 of Robbin’ the Rich

Ignored.

Then my older brother.

Then my mother again.

Then a group text.

Then another call.

The thing about growing up in a family like mine was that conflict was never allowed to fester. Every disagreement had to be managed and curated. We needed to get on the same page to save face. I had no interest in participating in that anymore.

I did however open the last message Robin sent me.

Robin: Six o'clock. Pie.

Right now, I was supposed to be decompressing and telling Robin about my day. I was going to come clean with her and tell her the truth, which could have ended this way too, but it would have been better than this. Anything would have been better than this.

Back when we'd both thought we knew what the day was going to look like. My chest tightened. I scrolled upward. Reading through all our old messages. A thousand tiny moments stacked on top of one another until they became something impossible to ignore.

Before I could stop myself, I typed.

Robin, please talk to me.

I stared at the message for a second before hitting send.

No response arrived.

A few minutes later I tried again.

I know you're angry. You have every right to be.

The silence that followed felt enormous.

I set the phone down. Only to just about jump out of my skin when there were three sharp raps on my front door.

I froze.

Was it Robin?

Then I heard my father's voice carried through the door.

"Micah."

I closed my eyes. Why was I surprised? I shouldn’t be. This was on brand for my father. If something threatens to tarnish his curated image he shuts it down, even if that something is his son.

Another knock.

"Micah."

I was not going to do this. I’d said all I needed to say. I didn’t need another guilt trip. I’d had enough today.

Eventually the knocking stopped. He lingered outside for another minute before returning to his car. Only after the engine faded into the distance did I finally breathe.

I picked up my phone again. I knew Robin wouldn’t text me. I knew she would be mad; I’d expected her to rage. I would gladly take it because I know I deserved it, but the silence was worse. Much worse.

Robin wasn't the kind of person who disappeared. If she was furious, she'd tell you. If she hated something, you'd know. The silence made it feel more permanent.

But it wasn’t permanent. It couldn’t be. I would give her time to cool down and then try one last time to explain myself. Then I would stay gone if that was what she wanted.