Page 60 of Empty Net
I looked at the closed laptop. The draft email still existed behind the black screen even if I could not see it.
Davis looked too. Operations people see the thing you are not looking at.
"Whatever it is," he said, "don't solve it tired."
"That's almost advice."
"Don't tell anyone. I have a brand."
Then he left, which was kind. Staying would have made me explain myself, and explanation is just pressure wearing a tie.
Progress, apparently.
Now it is 10:43 PM and I am in my apartment with a mug of tea I do not want, a laptop I should not open, and a phone faceup on the coffee table because I am a mature adult who has decided not to check it every forty seconds.
I check it every forty seconds.
No message.
This is fine. Nolan has practice tomorrow. Nolan has a body that hurts after travel. Nolan has a life that, until recently, did not include texting another man because the silence in his apartment got too loud. Nolan is allowed to have an evening where he does not give me evidence that he still wants this.
Knowing this does not make the phone less visible.
My mother texts at 10:47.
Soo-jin:
Did you eat vegetables?
I look at the empty takeout container on the counter. There were scallions in the noodles. Legally, this is probably insufficient.
Me:
There were green elements.
Soo-jin:
That is not a vegetable answer.
Me:
It is vegetable-adjacent.
Soo-jin:
You are avoiding the noun.
The problem with my mother is that she can be talking about broccoli and still arrive at the emotional truth.
Me:
What noun?
Soo-jin:
The one making you discuss scallions like a lawyer.
I sit back against the couch.
