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“How’s your dad?” I ask.
“It’s his gallbladder. They say he’ll be fine, but my parents have been together since they were sixteen years old, and this is the first health scare he’s really had. My mom is terrified he’s going to go into surgery and not come out. The doctors assure me it’s a standard procedure, but I want to be there for her – and for him, obviously.”
“Of course,” I say. “I’m sure it will be fine.”
“Yeah,” she says. Then, there’s a silence before she adds, “So, I have your number now.”
“And I have yours,” I reply, smiling.
“What do we do now?” she asks.
“Well, we could just talk,” I say.
“I guess we could,” she replies, laughing a little again. “Is that okay? Did I interrupt anything?”
“No, I’m at home. Where are you?”
“Home,” she says.
We say nothing for a long moment. There’s a tension here, but it’s not an awkward one; it’s a pleasant one.
“Baby?” she says.
“Yeah?” I say back, smiling at the term of endearment.
“I miss you.”
“I miss you,” I say.
“Are you going to the party?” she asks.
“I have to, or I’ll lose the job,” I say.
“Yeah,” she says, sounding disappointed.
“I’ll just ask my friends if I can hang out with them all night.”
“Hang out with?”
I laugh and say, “I don’t participate unless you’re there. I’ll just watch.”
“That sounds nice,” she says.
“Do you ever think about that night?”
“Yes,” she says.
“Would you want to do it again?”
“Yes,” she repeats.
“Me too,” I say.
“I miss your hands on me,” she says.
“Fuck,” I say, shifting on the bed. “Me too.”
“I shouldn’t ask you for this,” she says.
