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Toto lets out a loud doggie snore.
“Sorry buddy, you don’t count.”
Staring at the wall, I decide that I do have a best friend. Nero.
I dig my phone out of my pocket, wanting to feel connected.
But then I hesitate.
What I really want is for him to come home. And in order to do that, he needs to finish what he’s doing there. If I’m bothering him every time I want to talk, it’s gonna take him that much longer.
But I want to talk with someone.
“Sure you can’t speak?” I ask Toto.
He doesn’t answer.
Blowing out a breath, I open the contacts list on my new phone.
As he’d promised, Nero had all my old info transferred over. Not that there was much.
My contacts are almost only coworkers and my bosses, specifically for when I’d get sick and need to call in or find a replacement for my shift.
I don’t have anything as far as social media goes. When you run away from home to avoid abusive parents, you can’t exactly create profiles to stay in touch with high school friends. Not that I had any.
It’s not like people were mean to me. I wasn’t bullied much. There just wasn’t anyone to miss me, so no one to stay in touch with.
I snuck out in the middle of the night, and I doubt there was a single person beyond my mom and Arthur that even knew I was gone. Well, except maybe my boss at the time. I feel bad about bailing on work without a word. But it wasn’t worth the risk of a phone call. And she was kind of a bitch anyways.
Focusing on the names in my phone, I see that Nero added a bunch of new ones. Rocco, who I have yet to officially meet. Robert. Giles, Robert’s backup. A number just labeled as Vet, and I assume that’s who looked at Toto.
It’s King’s name that makes me pause. That man still kinda scares me, so having his contact info at my fingertips feels a little weird. He was friendly enough when he came into that café, the morning when Nero was apparently sitting out in the car.
Trying my latte for the first time.
But having King chase me through that fancy party… It felt like my heart was going to dissolve because it was beating so hard.
God, that was an awful night.
Until it wasn’t…
Scrolling back up to the top of the names, I wonder what I’m even doing. Looking through my phone for a friend to call is like standing in front of an open fridge hoping for pizza, when you know damn well you only have expired milk, jelly and a bottle of ranch.
My thumb pauses, then swipes back the other way.
Betsy, waitress.
Branden, line cook.
Cole, dish boy.
Darlene…
I stare at the alphabetical list.
Where’s Carlton?
I try to think what his last name is, like maybe it’s listed backwards. But no. I don’t know his last name now any more than I did when he gave me his number.
