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Come over.It’s on the tips of my fingers to type out. Come over, and I’ll make dinner for you. Tell me your favorite food, and I’ll devote all day to learning how to make it.
All I text is Thanks.
Reese: So, cooking, yoga, going places without your BlackBerry. You’re a regular renegade.
Me:I was only on the Truman Balcony.
Silence settles between us, enough to where I stop refreshing the screen, then ditch my phone on the counter and clear my plate, wash it, and leave it out to dry.
Still no text. What should I expect, though? A Goodnight, sleep tight from Reese?
It’s almost midnight when my phone buzzes again. I tried to be strong and leave it in the kitchen, but after only ten minutes, I brought it to my bedroom. The quiet has become oppressive. Not even Sérgio can distract me from my wandering thoughts.
Reese should be asleep, and so should I, but if I were, I would have missed his text. It’s simple, and there’s not a single thing I should read into it.
Reese: Have a good day tomorrow.
My heart is a balloon, floating away.
Me: You too.
