Page 88 of Breakaway
"Bye, Luca."
"Bye."
The screen goes dark. I close the laptop and sit on the bed for a while. My phone is beside me, face-up, the Miami balcony holding steady underneath whatever notifications have piled up during the session.
I pick it up and call Wes.
"Hey. How was the game last night?"
"We lost. I had a rough shift."
"Rough how?"
"Turnover. Blue line. Cost us a goal."
"That happens."
"I know."
A pause. I can hear his apartment behind his voice. The ocean underneath, or maybe the air conditioning that sounds like the ocean from this distance.
"How are you?" he says. The question is careful. Not careful the way it was a month ago, when careful meant afraid. Careful the way Wes is careful with things he wants to hold without squeezing.
"I'm okay. I had a session with Gwen today."
"On the road?"
"Yeah."
"Good. I’m glad you reached out to her." Another pause. "You sound tired."
"I am tired."
"Road trip tired or a different tired?"
He is asking without pushing and asking the right question. I could tell him about the picture and that I fell asleep thinking about it. I could tell him all of it.
"A little of both," I say.
"Do you want to talk about it?” He’s been doing that. Asking if I want to talk about what comes up with Gwen. Opening the door. Sometimes I do, but not today.
“Maybe some other day.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t push, but let’s me decide what I want to share. “Good luck with Toronto tonight. Call me tomorrow?"
"I'll call you tomorrow."
"Love you."
"Love you, Wes."
I hang up and the room is quiet. The phone is on the pillow beside me, face-up. I did not tell him about the picture. Gwen would say some things belong in the chair on Juniper Street, not on a phone call in the middle of the day. Maybe figuring that out is the work.
The thoughts are still here. Not louder than yesterday. Not quieter. The same thoughts at the same volume, except now I notice.
I see Gwen again in two days. Wes is in Miami and the distance between us is geography, not replacement. I sixty percent believe that.
?
