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Me: Yeah. You wearing a mullet?
Hunter: Nah. That’s so 1999. Where are you?
Me: Locked in the bathroom. I should go back out there.
Hunter: Back to him?
I stare wide-eyed at that last question. He broke so many of our unspoken rules with that one.
Hunter: Should’ve sat on that a bit longer before hitting Send.
He’s jealous. He’s jealous, and I couldn’t be happier about it. That’s how little I’ve moved on. So I throw all caution to the wind and make a proper mess of things.
Me: Tell me not to go back to him and I won’t. Tell me to go straight home instead. Tell me you’ll call me in the morning.
I’m gripping the phone with both hands as I wait for his response. A knock sounds on the door, but I don’t move or respond. Seconds slip by. Maybe even minutes.
‘Annie?’ comes Bridget’s voice through the door. ‘Open up.’
I’m holding my breath, willing my phone to beep. But it doesn’t.
Hunter doesn’t text back.
He doesn’t text me back before leaving the bathroom or even that night.
He doesn’t text me the next day, or the day after that, or any time in the months that follow.
