Page 119 of Cut Off
I take a breath. I unlock the phone. I type.
I heard. I’m so happy for you both that I’m falling apart on a porch swing about it. Like, full Pollyanna. My mother is concerned.
I delete the second sentence. I’m not ready to be cute with him yet.
Me:I’m so happy for you both.
Send.
The little dots appear immediately, which means he has been holding his phone.
Jonah:
thank you. zoe.
can i see you
I stare at it, then I press the heels of my hands into my eye sockets.
I can’t do it. I can’t sit across from him and look at his open face and his auburn hair and the way he says my name. Not yet. Not while everything inside me is still re-arranging itself around the fact that he and I aren’t together.
I need a beat. I need the kind of distance that only time can manufacture.
Jonah, I type, I want to. I’m not going to. Not right this second. I just—I need a minute. But I’m so happy for you and Eli, I can’t stop smiling.
I read it back. I delete it because it’s time I say exactly what I want.
Me:Jonah, it’s taken me too long to take center stage and say what I want. So let me be clear: I don’t want a half-ass relationship. I want you. I want Eli. I want our lives together. If you want that, let me know.
Deep breath. Send.
Eli already knows he can call or text me anytime, day or night, and he has. A few days ago, he wrote to tell me he’s working on the R2-D2 Lego set. But I’d love to see him in person, though, if he wants, so I add that, letting Jonah know I’m in town through Sunday.
Send.
The dots come. Stop. Come again.
Jonah:
okay
okay. that’s fair.
i’ll tell Eli. he’s going to lose his mind.
I put the phone face down on the porch swing cushion. I drink my mom’s coffee. I let my heart do its thing for a minute, which today is a sort of warm bruised hum.
I leave the porch.
Main Street in Dickens at ten a.m. on a Friday is, no exaggeration, the friendliest stretch of pavement in the universe. In three blocks, I’ve been hugged twice, asked about Seattle four times, and informed by a woman whose name I can’t remember that her daughter saw me on the news and was “so proud.” I don’t know this woman’s daughter.
I cut down the alley by the bookstore, Beaver Booksies. I’m heading next door to King Bean because my mother’s coffee is great, but I want one of Jane’s lavender lattes.
I see W2Beaver, which is on the other side of the river.
The station’s facade has always looked like the front of a dental office that added a cheesy logo. Big block letters, a cartoon beaver giving a thumbs-up, two flower planters out front that nobody waters. Today, though, there’s a hand-lettered sign in the window. NOW HIRING. ASK INSIDE.
A NOW HIRING sign.
