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My assistant gives me a blank look. “Cat.”
Should have expected nothing less. “You tell Cat I said goodnight.”
His lips twitch and he disappears.
I’m alone.
With my work.
And my phone.
Where there are no messages from Yaya.
Maybe I should get a cat too.
* * *
Yaya:Can we talk?
My phone is the first thing I reach for when I crack my eyes open.
My brain takes a second to register Yaya’s message but, when it does, my heart lodges in my ribs. I shoot out of my chair like a rocket. Something flutters close to my eyes. Two sticky notes stuck on either cheek. I wrench them off and stare at the phone screen.
All last night, I was hoping that Yaya would text to say that she sent Henry away and she’s decided she wants to spend the rest of her life with me.
I love you, Dare.That’s the sign I want her hands to form.
I. Love. You.
But those joyous words are rarely predicated by the term ‘can we talk’. In fact, ‘can we talk’ is just a more polite version of ‘we need to talk’, which is the official pre-break up text. It’s practically the kiss of death to any relationship.
I need to respond, but my eyes feel like sandpaper and my head is pounding. It reminds me of that one time I went overboard at a frat party. I was still in control of my faculties, but all my senses were dulled. Nothing felt important or meaningful. I could have jumped off a roof just for the hell of it.
I know if I answer in this exhausted state, I’ll beg Yaya to leave Henry and stay with me in any way I can. I’d probably dangle every cent in my bank account, not leaving out any of the many,manyzeroes. I’d buy her agency and force her to work with me via an iron-clad modeling contract. I’d buy a castle and lock her in there like the wicked witch and Rapunzel.
Even my thoughts are jumping off the deep end.
Coffee. Yup.
I make myself a cup and sip the hot brew. At this point, I’m running on java and fumes. I bet if someone were to cut me open, black sludge would fall out of my veins.
Every part of me aches.
How many hours has it been since Yaya left with Henry? I haven’t felt like a human being since that moment.
After brewing a second cup, I return to my table and pick up my cell phone. The coffee makes my hands jittery. At this point, I’m considering checkingmyselfinto the room next to my sister.
Hi, I’m Dare Sullivan. My addiction is coffee and Yaya Williams.
I don’t think that counts as a dangerous addiction, but I bet they’d exchange my money for a strait jacket anyway.
After three deep breaths, I’m ready to answer Yaya. We arrange a time and place, and it’s all quite stilted. Nothing like our usual texts where we’re cracking jokes, flirting and firing out light-hearted banter.
I used to be a ‘call only, don’t text’ guy. Now that Yaya’s being so brusque over text, I realize how wrong I was. It wasn’t the mode of communication that was important to me. It was the person.
With Yaya, we can communicate over text or video calls or via carrier pigeon. Doesn’t matter. I crave talking to her.
I really am addicted.
