Luke: You two have a fight or something?
Me: No. Why would we fight?
Luke: That's what I'm trying to figure out.
I pocket my phone and finish cleaning. At six, I lock up and walk home, it’s a lovely warm evening. My feet hurt, my back hurts, actually everything hurts.
My apartment is quiet and empty. I take a shower, put on old sweats and collapse on the couch. My phone is on the coffee table and I stare at it for a long time before picking it up.
The message thread with Ethan is still open. His last text stares back at me.
Nothing.
I type: This isn't working.
Delete it.
Type: We need to talk.
Delete it.
Type: I can't do this.
Delete it.
I set down the phone and close my eyes. When I open them, there's a new message.
Ethan: I'm sorry about today.
My chest tightens.
Me: For what?
Ethan: For making things harder.
Me: You're not making anything harder.
The lie sits between us, we both know it's a lie.
Ethan: I should stay away from the shop.
My fingers hover over the keyboard. This is it, this is where I agree, where I let him create distance, and where I do the right thing.
Me: If that's what you want.
Ethan: It's not about what I want.
Me: Then what's it about?
The dots appear and disappear for a full minute. Finally I get a response.
Ethan: Luke.
One word, but it explains everything.
I set down the phone and stare at the ceiling. Luke trusts Ethan. Luke trusts me. Luke would never understand this thing between us that isn't supposed to exist.
My phone buzzes again.
