Having kept it off the entire time I was in the hospital, I turn it on to a barrage of texts. Opening them, just to get rid of the notification, I stop at Callahan’s when I see that every day he has sent me a different selfie. All of them are of him shirtless in various mechanic calendar poses. Under each one is a corny fact about love.
“Thought you needed a distraction,” he texted, making his intentions clear. Feeling more things than I should while being in the room with my dad, I send a quick thank you and move on. Still, the images stay in my mind late into the night.
When it’s just me on the couch that I now have to call home, I finally respond back to him.
My phone screen lights up with his name, and I instantly answer. My fingers tap on my lips while hesays hello.
“How can I help you?” I ask, sliding down on the sofa.
“Well, you can let me hear that pretty voice call out my name.”
“You would like that, wouldn’t you?”
“I would like to hear you say it at an altar, more.”
I roll my eyes and lay my head back on my pillow. “I thought you were calling to have phone sex?”
“I am, I just wanted to remind you of the end goal.”
“I can’t deal with you.” I feel my cheeks heat, and I hate that he brings this reaction out of me.
“What are you wearing?”
I look down to see my T-shirt stained with paint and baggy sweats. Wearing some sort of compression granny panties, I don’t even know if I’m supposed to take them off.
“Honestly, just picture me naked,” I say, rethinking this idea.
“Sweetheart, you could be in a pickle costume and I would think you’re sexy.”
I laugh and roll onto my side, the idea of masturbating gone. Maybe I should wait a week or two when I can take these off.
“Is this a fantasy of yours? Having sex with a pickle?” I ask.
“Actually, in high school, I had this weird sex dream where I was a burger and she was a bun. I understand the innuendo, but pimply awkward me in a meat suit is not sexy.”
“I mean, I could get into it.” I try to imagine him in as many ridiculous outfits as I can, and in all of them, I still find him sexy.
“What’s your weird fantasy?” he asks.
“I don’t think my fantasies are weird. I like clown porn, so nothing really surprises me anymore.”
“You’re a psycho.” He sounds so serious, it causes me to bust out laughing.
“Would you like to come to my circus, Callahan?”
“I think you found the one thing I wouldn’t do for you.”
Switching into a conversation about the type of things we watch it ranges from porn, to cartoons, to movies. That just sparks us talking until we are yawning more than speaking.
“It’s 3 a.m.,” I proclaim, sitting up a little bit. I keep my face neutral, but my mind still screams all its emotions about the fact that we have been talking this long. It’s so easy to get lost in him, and I’m starting to ask myself why I keep trying to find my way out.
“You’re a terrible influence. I have to go to work tomorrow.” He yawns again, and that gets me going.
“You called me.”
“And I would do it again, in fact, we can fall asleep on the phone together.”
It’s the corniest thing I have ever heard, and I still want to do it.
