He gets home still half drunk from four beers and the two shots of vodka Karen made him do with her. He kicks a box of books sitting by his chair, kicks it hard, sending it toppling over, paperbacks spilling out onto the floor. He sinks down into the chair, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. Her number comes to him without thought, his thumb finding the numbers quickly.
She picks up after two and a half rings and she sounds out of breath like she had to run to answer it. He takes a second to let himself imagine her flushed cheeks and her bangs falling from behind her ear and into her face. He takes a second to let his eyes close at the thought of her skin, but then he’s saying, “Did you expect me not to be angry?”
“I- I’m-” He hears her stumble over words, trying to find the right response.
“Really. Did you think I would come back and just be happy to see you? That I would just- I mean. Fuck, Pam.” He presses his thumb and index finger to his closed eyes, his head leaning over the back of the chair. He feels a burning behind his eyes and tries to force it back.
“I don’t know what you want me to say Jim,” she says quietly and he can hear the tightness in her throat.
And he thinks it’s completely fucking twisted that he impulsively wants to ask her what she’s wearing right now. More for the visual, so he can properly imagine her alone in her apartment across town right now. Her in sweats with her hair pulled back in a messy bun. Or her still in her work outfit, only without the sweater and a few more of the shirt’s buttons undone and her stockings off.
“It’s been four months, Pam. Four months and I hadn’t heard a word from you about anything. Did you think I could just forget everything that happened? Did you think I’d just forgive you? That the time away somehow erased all that- that shit that happened in May from my head?”
“No.”
“Because, look, I’m still- Even though I tried to stop, I couldn’t. And it still hurts. Still.”
“I know,” and he hears her voice shaking. “I didn’t call you or anything because I thought you wouldn’t want to hear from me.”
He stands and moves to start putting the books back in their box, but ends up lying down across the hardwood floor in the middle of his mostly empty living room. He’d chosen not to move back in with Mark. Instead getting a new place that was just his. Part of his evolution or some shit. The floor isn’t very comfortable but he’s gotten used to that sort of ache in his bones.
He lets out a breath and says, “You’re probably right. I don’t know that I could’ve handled talking to you then. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you’d called me right after you’d called off your wedding.”
“I need you to know that it wasn’t all about you. I made the decision on my own which is part of why I didn’t want to talk to you after. I needed it to be my thing. I needed to do it for me and not for anyone else.”
“Yeah.” He turns on his side and stares at the outlet on the wall, absently reaching out to touch it with his fingertips. “I’m not really seeing Karen. At least, not officially or anything.”
“Oh.” He imagines her lips forming the shape of the word, pink and thin. “Why did you say you were then?”
“Just to see,” he says, his eyes closing slowly as he rolls onto his back again. He feels the weight of alcohol and exhaustion pressing in on him. Her quiet voice like warm hands pressing on his chest. It makes him miss her more, makes him want to get in his car and be next to her for even a second.
“To see what?” And he imagines her sitting in her kitchen with just the light from a lamp hanging over the table. The TV muted in the background, the wordless evening news. She’s probably staring down at the day’s pile of mail, her finger bending the corner of a coupon for 25% off a window cleaning. One foot tucked under her and one knee drawn up under her chin.
“To see how you’d react,” he finally answers.
She doesn’t say anything and he starts counting the seconds of silence that go by. One, two, three, four, five, six-
“Yeah? Well, did I react the way you’d hoped? Was it everything you thought it would be? Or did you want me to cry and tell you how sorry I am and how in love with you I am and how you should never be with anyone but me? Would that have changed things?”
“No,” he answers flatly, “Probably not.”
He hears the scrape of metal on linoleum and sees her pushing her chair quickly out from under her as she stands, readying herself to end this conversation. He sits up himself as if it really makes a difference, draws his knees to his chest and waits for her to say something.
“You know, unlike you, I’m not willing to just throw away our friendship because you don’t want to be with me. I’m trying here, okay? I’m not running away.”
And before he can even pretend to have a response to that, she hangs up. He brings the phone away from his ear slowly, placing it on the floor next to him as he looks around the open space of his apartment. On the coffee table that came with the place, there’s a card from his mother that reads, ‘WELCOME HOME,’ on the front.
unfold is the author of 102 other stories.
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