Page 24

I close my eyes for one second.

What’s wrong with you?

I open them and put the phone face down on the passenger seat. That lasts until it buzzes again.

Maggie: Sorry. That sounded weird.

Maggie: Oh my god, please delete my number.

I sit back.

This time, I do laugh. Quietly, alone, inside the car.

Then I pick up the phone.

Me: No.

A pause.

Maggie: No?

Me: Repeat radial.

Maggie: You’re just going to ignore my social death?

Me: Yes.

Maggie: I respect that more than I should.

I get out of the car. The garage elevator smells faintly of metal and rain. I read her repeat of radial on the way up. Correct. I tell her so.

My apartment is dark when I let myself in. It’s always dark when I get home.

The heat is set too low because I’m rarely here long enough to care. The air has that unused chill expensive places get when no one lives in them properly. Clean counters. Clean floor. No dishes in the sink. No coat over a chair. Nothing out of place except me.

I take off my shoes by the door and hang my coat in the closet.

The silence settles around me.

Usually I prefer it. Tonight it feels too wide.

My phone buzzes in my hand.

Maggie: I’m doing the repeat. Don’t rush me. My neurons are unionizing.

I stand in the entryway longer than necessary.

Then I answer.

Me: Take one minute.

Maggie: Is that generosity or a threat?

Me: Timing.

Maggie: Ugh, it’s still not making complete sense to me.

I look at the clock. We’re running out of time. It’s difficult to explain over text, voice notes are easier. I hit record before I can second-guess myself.