Page 45 of What We Break
I set my phone face-down on the couch. Pick it up. Check it. Nothing. Set it down again.
I try to focus on something else. Turn on the TV. Can't focus. Turn it off. Go to the kitchen. Open the fridge. Close the fridge. I'm not even hungry.
Back to the couch. Check the phone. No response. Not even the little dots that show someone's typing.
This is ridiculous. I'm a grown man. I've run through gunfire. I've touched people's hearts—literally. I can handle waiting for a text.
I check the phone again.
Nothing.
Maybe she's at work. Maybe she's busy. Maybe she's with Bethany, or in that yoga class she mentioned, or asleep because her schedule is fucking backward.
Or maybe she looked at her phone, saw my name, and thought,Oh, that guy. The one who ignored me for four days and then asked me to dinner like nothing happened.
Or maybe she's showing her friends the text and they're all laughing about how I said "somewhere nice" like I'm a waiter at a mediocre restaurant.
Or maybe she's sitting there staring at my text the same way I was staring at her number, wondering if this is moving too fast.
That last option is probably the healthiest one to believe, so I'm going with that.
10
LAINE
Reid
Hey, it's Reid. I know it's been a few days, but I was wondering if u want to grab dinner with me this weekend. Somewhere nice. Just the two of us
Istare at the text message, sitting in the break room with my half-eaten sandwich forgotten on the table in front of me. It's Thursday night, middle of my shift, and I've been wondering if I'd hear from Reid again.
Four days. Not that I've been counting or anything.
Actually, that's a lie. I have been counting. And I've been alternating between "he's busy, relax" and "he met someone better at a gas station and forgot you exist" with absolutely no middle ground. This is what I do. I'm aware it's not healthy. I'm doing it anyway.
Somewhere nice. Just the two of us.
My stomach does a thing. Not the good flutter from the diner — something tighter. Like excitement and panic had a baby and it's living in my ribcage.
Somewhere nicesounds... serious. More serious than our diner breakfast or our park date. More serious than I'm sure I want things to beright now. A few days ago, maybe I would have been excited. But four days of silence have given me plenty of time to do what I do best — overthink until the good thing starts looking like a threat.
I was letting myself fall too quickly. This new start was never supposed to be about a guy. It was supposed to be about building a whole life.
And maybe Reid is just a really beautiful, pancake-loving distraction from that.
My phone buzzes with another text, this one from
Bethany
Drinks tomorrow? That place with the cute bartender?
I set my phone aside and take a bite of my sandwich. I don't know what to do about either of them.
"You look like someone just asked you to donate a kidney," Joyce says, settling into the chair across from me with her dinner.
"What?"
"You've got that look. Like you're trying to solve world hunger or decide whether to quit your job and join the circus." Joyce unwraps her salad and gives me that direct stare that always makes me feel like she can see through walls. "What's going on?"
