Long enough that I start imagining worst-case scenarios. Long enough that I almost typed, “ I’m fine, forget it.”
Then my phone buzzes.
DJ: I’m coming home.
I blink.
Me: Home where?
DJ: To you…duh
My throat tightens.
Me: You don’t have to?—
DJ: I didn’t ask.
There’s a pause.
Then another message.
DJ: You better keep fighting until I get there.
The tears come before I can stop them.
Me: DJ…
DJ: I’m serious, Lena.
DJ: We still got stuff to do.
I try to laugh through the ache building in my chest.
Me: Like what?
DJ: I haven’t beat you in bowling yet.
DJ: And you still owe me for eating my fries in 2007.
A watery smile spreads across my face.
Me: I did not eat your fries.
DJ: You absolutely did. And you blamed Mama.
I shake my head, tears sliding freely now.
Me: You’re ridiculous.
DJ: And you’re not allowed to be tired enough to quit. Not yet.
DJ: Fight until I get there. Then we’ll fight together.
The weight of the world and the weight of my pain is sitting on more than my shoulders. It’s sitting on my chest.
All day I’ve been strong. I’ve tried to stay measured. Tried to maintain my calmness.
But this?—
