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I swallow. ‘Woolly.’
She shakes her head. ‘Why can’t you just ask him how he is?’
We’ve never asked each other that. It might be the one rule we have. Asking how the other is could lead to someone admitting that they’re not good, lonely, broken. That they’re missing the other person. And that would be like pulling that loose thread on a garment that makes the whole seam come undone.
Bridget picks up my phone. ‘This is silly. I’m going to text him for you.’
‘No.’ I snatch my phone from her hands.
‘Why not?
So many reasons, but I go with ‘Because I sent the last text.’
‘So?’
‘So it’s his turn.’
Bridget picks up her glass again and takes a large sip. ‘You know what I think?’
‘I’m sure you’ll tell me.’
‘I think his intentions are noble but ultimately damaging. Because he didn’t have the heart to end things properly, you’re left living half a life instead of the full one he wanted for you.’ With that said, she leaves the kitchen.
I look down at my phone where my last text message to Hunter sits open. Leaning against the sink, I start typing.
Annie: I love you. I miss you. And even though you don’t want to hear this, I’m waiting for you.
I read it three, four, five times. Then, deleting the message, I place the phone back on the bench.
