Garrett would weep with
pride ??
Three dots appear almost instantly.
GRUMP BUCKET:
Tastes better than it looks
I huff out a quiet laugh. Knowing Alex, it’s probably the most delicious food imaginable. But, for whatever reason, I don’t type that out as a response. Instead, I keep it short.
ME:
that seems unlikely
There’s a pause this time. My head lulls back against the couch cushion with my phone in hand, waiting to see if he says anything back. This is already the longest conversation we’ve had all week.
GRUMP BUCKET:
Long day?
I glance around my apartment. At the half-finished sketch on the table, a dirty apron dangling off the counter in the spot I tossed it when I came home earlier.
Me:
good day
Another pause that stretches far too long and feels deafening.
GRUMP BUCKET:
Good.
And then nothing.
I stare at the screen for a second longer than I need to before setting my phone down, because what am I supposed to say in response togood?
That’s how it is now.
We keep it to simple check-ins, always light and efficient.
Not heavy or dripping with everything we can’t say.
I press back into the couch cushions, letting the pillows absorb as much of my body as they can and stare up at the ceiling.
Maybe not everything that feels big is meant to last.
The thought comes easily now. It isn’t sharp or painful like it might have been months ago. It’s just… true.
Maybe some people show up for a short period of time, just change you, and that’s it.
I sigh, folding my hands over my stomach.
Still, for reasons I don’t fully understand, I never quite treat it like it’s over. If I did, this would all be so much easier.
?????????
A few days later, I find a crisp, black envelope at my door.
