Last Girl Ghosted(13)

He jogged up the steps to the house, my brother at his heels.

My mother turned to me and smiled. I saw hope in the light of her eyes, in her wide smile. I wanted to feel what she felt.

What was wrong with them? Were they seeing something I couldn’t? My mother grabbed my hand and squeezed, pulled me toward the house.

“This is a place where your father can heal,” she whispered. “A house that’s been in his family and now belongs to us with lots of land. Think of it as an adventure.”

Adventures were supposed to be fun. My heart felt like a stone.

“It’s an adventure,” she said again, as if repeating it would make it true. Her eyes glimmered with joyful tears.

“You’ll see,” she said when I stayed quiet. “We’re going to be happy here.”

I let her lead me inside.



seven


Now


The morning outside my window has dawned gray and drizzly. There’s no bird at the window, just the tap of rain. My neck is sore from sleeping on the couch.

After a fitful night, I am groggy and unmotivated. I pick up the phone. Nothing from you or anyone. The battery is running low.

Wrapped up in the cashmere throw, still wearing my dress from last night, I can see the tops of trees through my window. Even in Brooklyn there’s birdsong in the early morning, but I don’t hear it now. I pull the blanket over my head, squeeze my eyes closed. Maybe I’ll just stay here for a while. Maybe all day.

But after a while my caffeine addiction kicks in, so I pad to the kitchen and brew some coffee, still tethered to my phone.

While the coffee brews, I call Jax and tell her what happened.

“What a dick,” she says when I’m done.

“What do you think happened to him?” I’m still thinking about one of your final texts. Something’s happened. I have to go. I’m sorry, Wren.

“Sounds like pure bullshit to me,” she says. “Like he’s making up some kind of intrigue to disguise the fact that he’s a coward.”

She’s running on the treadmill, her voice breathless, the sound of her feet falling heavily, the whirring of the belt loud on the line. “All men are cowards. If he hadn’t disappeared now, he would have later. Or he’d have cheated. Or had a secret gambling addiction. Whatever.”

Jax doesn’t like most men. Her father left when she was young, and Miranda raised Jax and her brothers alone, working two jobs and always struggling. On the other hand, Jax doesn’t like most women either. In fact, I think I’m one of three people she likes.

“Maybe,” I concede. Because to be fair, neither of us have had the best relationship luck.

“Let’s face it.” Her footfalls slow; the treadmill whirs to a stop. “We’re better off alone. Why don’t you and I just get married and call it a day?”

She’s said this before. But since neither one of us is gay I don’t know how it’s going to work out. Maybe it would work out fine. Maybe in the end a solid friendship is all any of us needs. I find myself smiling.

“Can I get back to you on that?” I say. It’s not a new conversation.

“Sure.” She has a smoky, sexy voice, perfect for her podcast. “And, hey, you know what? It’s okay.”

“Yeah,” I say, not feeling it. At all. “Of course.”

She’s still breathless. I hear her guzzling water.

“Let’s go out tonight,” she says finally. “Dance, drink, meet someone else. You know, old school like they used to do it before dating apps.”

I can’t think of anything I want to do less.

“Not tonight,” I tell her. “I think I’ll stay in and sulk.”

Her laugh is throaty and deep. She can always get me to go out and she knows it.

“We’ll see about that,” she says before ending the call.

I have deadlines, so I push my worry and disappointment deep inside, and I get down to it, carrying my coffee into my office. I sit at the desk that used to belong to my mother, and tilt back in the ergonomic chair I bought to save my aching back. I pop open my laptop and try to focus. But, of course, I obsessively check my phone and my email.

Maybe I’m overreacting.

Your job, it is a little mysterious. You can’t always talk about your clients and what you do for them. What if you got called away suddenly, couldn’t discuss it? That’s possible, right? Maybe it has nothing to do with my late-night confessions.

But the morning winds on and no word from you.

No, the truth is that I’ve been ghosted. I can already see myself fading into a shimmering mirage, you disappearing, a dot on the horizon.

I guiltily ignore a call from Jax’s mother, Miranda, who, along with Jax’s older brothers, is the closest thing I have to family. She sends a text instead: Call if you need to talk. Men. Believe me. He’s not the last Coca-Cola in the desert. She includes a bunch of man emojis. Always careful to be inclusive, they are of all colors and professions—one blond, one brunette, one Black, one Asian, a guy with a mustache, a detective, a doctor, a beefeater, a punk. One of Miranda’s gifts is to make me laugh; like my call with Jax, Miranda’s text lightens my mood. What would I do without them?

Near lunchtime, I lose an internal battle and start scanning your social media platforms. You rarely post, just the occasional news article about security related matters. There’s nothing new on any of them.