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There’s silence and then I hear a mumbled, “Oh.”
I press my lips together to keep from laughing. His random helplessness is pretty amusing. I wish I was there.
“Well,” he says after a short silence, “I guess I’ll let you go then.”
“Hey, wait,” I say, stopping him.
I pause, unsure of how to word this.
“Do you mind if I ask you something?” I finally say.
“No, I guess not.”
I wet my lips, hesitating. I don’t want to offend him, but I’m curious.
“Where’s all your stuff in the house?” I ask.
“Huh?”
I inhale a deep breath, forging on. “There’s furniture but not much else. It doesn’t look like you live there. Why?”
The other end of the phone is silent, and I stop breathing, afraid I’ll miss him speak.
Was the question insulting? I didn’t mean it to be. I just realized he knows so much about me, and I hardly know anything about him. He knows who my parents are, what happened to Cole’s and my friend, that I love 80s stuff, I grew up without a mom, what I study in college…
But he’s still such a mystery.
“I’m sorry if that sounded bad,” I tell him when he doesn’t answer. “It’s a beautiful home. It’s just that Cole mentioned that you and his mom met in high school where you were kind of a baseball star. You must love the sport. I’m just curious why I don’t see trophies or pictures or anything like that in the house. There’s no recent photos of you and Cole, either, no music, no books… Nothing that describes you or what you like.”
He draws in a breath, clearing his throat, and a cool sweat travels up my neck.
“It’s all packed in the basement,” he tells me. “I guess I just never dug it out after I moved into the house.”
“How long have you been in that house?”
“Uh….” He trails off as if thinking. “I guess I bought it ten years ago.”
Ten years?
“Pike…” I say, trying not to snicker.
He breathes out a laugh in my ear, and I smile, shaking my head.
“Guess it sounds weird, huh?” he asks.
That you still haven’t unpacked everything? Yeah.
I flip onto my back, keeping my arm tucked under my head. “I understand we do away with certain things as we get older,” I tell him. “But you’ve had a life since you moved into that place, haven’t you? I don’t see anything of your personality. Places you’ve visited, trinkets you’ve picked up over the years…”
“Yeah, I know, I uh…”
He hesitates again, letting out a sigh, and the sound of his breath vibrates across my ear, sending tingles down my spine.
I wish I could see his face. It’s so hard to read him over the phone. All I can picture is the way he drops his eyes sometimes, like he doesn’t want someone to know what he’s feeling, or the way he nods like maybe he’s afraid of what he’ll say if he speaks.
He finally continues. “Cole became more important,” he admits. “Somewhere along the way, who I was and what I wanted became irrelevant.”
I kind of understand. When you have kids, your hopes transfer to them. Your life takes a backseat to what they need. I get it.
