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“Tis a gobshite thing tae say, tis nae fair, tis like ye are blamin’ me, while tellin’ me that ye daena want me...”
He huffed. “Is that what ye are sayin’, ye daena want me tae call ye anymore?”
I was really crying now, my head moving back and forth, but I forced myself to say, “Yeah, I think we ought to... just...”
“Och, Woodshee, ye daena understand, this inna somethin’ ye can just call off, ye are too important tae me tae do this and...” His voice trailed off again.
I cried and sniffled.
Finally, after so long, I wondered if he was still there, he said, “Aye... If this is what ye want tae do...”
“It’s not that I want... I just... there’s no...”
He sat really quietly.
Then he said, “I understand.” And he hung up the phone.
And then I cried myself to sleep and it was so hard because for weeks now his was the voice that lulled me to sleep every night and now I felt so all alone.
