Page 95 of Sexting the Pakhan

The red light changes to green, and a car behind me honks. I flinch and drive forward, gripping the wheel tighter than necessary.

“Fantastic,” I mutter. “Distracted by imaginary phone sex during school drop-off. Excellent parenting.”

But the memory keeps unfolding anyway.

Last night, I turned onto my side and pulled the blanket higher, as if anyone could see me through the phone.

Me:When the apartment is quiet.

Unknown Number:It’s quiet now?

Me:Yes.

Unknown Number:Are you alone?

I looked toward the girls’ room, where the night-light made a soft moon shape on the wall.

Me:Not exactly.

Unknown Number:Kids asleep?

My thumb paused.

I had never told him much about them. Just enough over the years that he knew they existed. He knew there were two. He knew they were girls. He didn’t know their names, their school, their faces, the way Mila sang nonsense songs in the bath or the way Nadia arranged crayons by emotional importance.

Me:Yes.

Unknown Number:Then why are you still awake?

I swallowed.

Me:First day of kindergarten tomorrow.

Unknown Number:You’re nervous.

Me:They’re five. They will be fine. I am the problem.

Unknown Number:You always were.

I laughed again, softer this time.

Me:Excuse me?

Unknown Number:You think too much.

Me:That is not a crime.

Unknown Number:It becomes one when you use it to avoid telling me what you want.

I stared at that message for a long time. Outside my bedroom window, the city was humming faintly. Someone’s dog barked two floors down. The ceiling fan made its tired little click every fourth turn. My body, traitorous and awake, started to warm under the blanket.

I had known exactly where this was going. I could have stopped. I didn’t.

Me:Maybe I don’t want anything.

Unknown Number:Liar.

The word hit too low in my stomach.