At first I was irritated, but now I’ve moved to fucking pissed off. One of them has even called me a few times. If I had time to stop and answer, I would have the first six times they tried. Every attempt after the first I’m considering overkill.
I’m impressed with my skills. I still have seven minutes until my taxi will be here, but I spot the grey clouds out the big bay living room window and head back to my closet for a coat. Cloudy isn’t an uncommon weather element for San Francisco, but it's a reminder I should be prepared for anything. My phone vibrates in my back pocket again and I hit my breaking point.
The one person who isn’t going to feel my wrath over this excessive texting is Rebecca, and that’s only if she’s popped out a baby. My anger level plummets as I unlock my phone and see it wasn’t a few texts and calls, but more in the hundreds range. There is no way my phone vibrated for each of the 362 text messages or twenty-nine missed calls I have waiting for me.
I can’t see who sent them from this screen, but impending doom crashes over my morning. This is not good. There is no way this is good. My stomach flips making me glad I haven’t had time for breakfast. My back hits the couch before I realize I'd moved to that area of the apartment and my hand clenches the arm of the couch with my anxiety.
My first thought is of Ben.
I haven’t swiped the screen because I can’t face what is on the other side. When your brother is a cop in a major city, the thought of him being hurt on the job never quite leaves your mind. I thought him making detective would mean he was safer.
Not Ben. Not Ben. Not Ben. Please God, not Ben.
My head lowers between my legs and I press the phone to my forehead repeating my chant. I pour all my strength and conviction into my prayer, but the notifications don’t magically disappear. Nothing could have happened to Ben. He has a baby on the way. What kind of God would take an honorable man before he can meet his firstborn child?
With the phone unlocked, my eyes scan the screen. Marissa makes up the most of the texts with 279 from her. Amanda is in a close second, but to my surprise there are ten from Rebecca and two from Ben’s phone. If Ben’s texting me, he can't be that injured.
A breath I wasn’t aware I was holding releases and my posture slumps on the sofa. The doom from earlier is replaced with curiosity even as my heart continues to beat frantically from the remaining adrenaline. What in the fuck has happened in the outside world that I would need to be told of it so many times? I start with Ben. If he’s been injured he’ll jump right to the point. He never sugar coats things.
BEN: Why wouldn’t you tell us about Finn? We need to talk about this.
The second message is time stamped within the same minute.
BEN:I had a feeling you weren’t telling me the whole truth about Finn after the game Sunday. I’m extremely disappointed in you aspen.
Finn? I have no idea what my brother is talking about, but my heart drops again. Disappointing Ben is one of the few things I never want to do in life. I can’t imagine why he would be upset with me over Finn. We had a great time Sunday, didn’t we?
I skip passed Rebecca’s messages and move right to Marissa. The last few… hundred are all simple one word messages. They vary from “Pen", to “call me”, and a few “wtf.” As I scroll farther up, they become longer. “How could you not tell me about Finn?” and “I thought we were best friends. This is something you tell a best friend."
I’m still completely confused but becoming more worried with each message. I may not know what has happened, but it must be big. There are even some from co-workers starting to come in as I read more of Marissa’s text, but I don't check them. The one person in the bay area who hasn’t texted me this morning is… Finn.
I continue to scroll through Marissa’s texts in search of one that will fill me in to what everyone is so upset about. I work to brace myself for bad, but with no idea what it could be, I wind up feeling jumbled. As I reach the first of today’s messages from her, I see the bright blue text indicating she’s sent me a webpage.
The link is from,The San Francisco Examiner, a local paper and Marissa’s accompanying text is a simple lighthearted, “something you want to tell us, Pen?"
I don’t want to click on it. Whatever it is can’t be good. Has Finn’s company shut down? Has he been in some horrible crime? I refuse to think of what kind of crime could be headlining the Sunday edition. Marissa doesn’t even read the paper, and she seems the most put out by whatever I’m about to see.
I hesitate for a few seconds longer to steel myself for whatever information I’ll find at the end of this message. Even if I’d like to, I can’t ignore it forever.
