Chat

The phone vibrates as I read an article aboutt tackling clutter.  Emily excitedly glances at the caller ID, but I already know who it is, instinctively. 

 "Can I answer?" 

"Sure." I continue to read the article. 

She giggles and effuses; I grow wistful as she talks about horsecamp and her report card.  They discuss favorite foods--fried chicken and well-done marshmallows.  Neither makes an effort to have me enter the conversation, which doesn't really surprise me. 

They chat for ten minutes. 

I imagine the smile on his face as she speaks with him.  I know his eyes are twinkling.  I can picture the two-day stubble on Slavic cheekbones and for a moment, just a moment, I remember my lips pressed against the hair-coursened skin.

My heart doesn't ache for him anymore, though.   Memories are one thing, but emotional ties are another.  We're friends now--friends with a past, but friends nonetheless.

On the other hand, Emily is still attached.  She's never met him, but she likes him.  I've explained to her that we're just friends.  "Like you're brother and sister?" she comments.  "Something like that," I respond.

She hands me my phone.  "She speaks very well for her age.  She'll be successful."  The voice is familiar but tired.  He inquires about work and assures me that everything will be fine.  He's called to soothe me, and I accept this gesture.

"If you need to talk, you can always call me."

"I know."