“I know.” “Hell, Christian, you sound like shit. Do you want to go out to dinner?” “No.” “I’m coming over.” “No, Elena. I’m not good company. I’m tired and I want to be alone. I’ll call you during the week.” “Christian…it’s for the best.” “I know. Good-bye.” I hang up. I don’t want to talk to her; she encouraged me to fly down to Savannah. Perhaps she knew this day would come. I scowl at the phone, toss it onto my desk, and go in search of something to drink and eat. I EXAMINE THE CONTENTS of my fridge.
Nothing appeals. In the cupboard I find a bag of pretzels. I open them and eat one after the other as I walk to the window. Outside, night has fallen; lights twinkle and wink through the pouring rain. The world moves on. Move on, Grey. Move on.