I huffed out an amused sound and tapped out my reply.
Me: I thought we were past that.
Rome: Max would castrate me.
Rome: I just meant in general.
Me: I know what you meant. I’m fine.
Rome: Fine.
Me: Fine.
I could hear Miles in my head poking and teasing me for the answer. But I was fine. I wasn’t bad and I wasn’t great. I wouldn’t go so far as to say good. I was complacent and I was getting by, and that was enough. It was fine.
Rome: What’s wrong?
Me: I said I’m fine.
Rome: I know. So what’s wrong?
Me: Don’t you have a boyfriend to tend?
Rome: Hendrix.
Me: That doesn’t work on me anymore, remember?
Rome: You’re infuriating.
Rome: You know I’m here for you to talk to about things. We’re friends, I thought??
Rome was right. We were friends. Or we were trying to be friends. Our breakup hadn’t been contentious and I didn’t have any ill will toward him. He’d been what I needed until he wasn’t, and I think I’d served the same purpose for him. It had become clear to me as things between us fell apart that he’d somehow waited ten years to rebound from his high school sweetheart, and the rebound had been me. But Rome and I had two good years between us and I was thankful for them. He’d taught me a lot about who I was and what I wanted…also about what I deserved. What I would settle for.
Me: My neighbor infuriates me.
Rome responded quickly.
Rome: Fuck him.
Rome: Literally.
I scrubbed a hand down my face, debating the merits of turning my phone off and ignoring him for the rest of his life.
Me: I’m too old for that.
Rome: I remember it differently ;) ;)
Me: That won’t solve anything.
Rome: Can I call you?
Me: Fine.
I shoveled a bite of noodles into my mouth, chewing and swallowing as Rome’s phone number lit up my screen.
“Hey,” I answered, wiping some sauce from the corner of my mouth.
“Hey.” Rome’s rough baritone was soft as a warm blanket. It had been months since we’d spoken, most of our burgeoning post-relationship friendship developing through texts instead.
