2 Questions Every Girl is Asking Herself

Chapter 46

"Hello."

Oh, you had me at hello. I like his voice. There's a roundness to it, if one's voice could be described as round. It sounds as if he's smiling ever so slightly behind it, amused and jovial. It's a voice that's used to soothing the emotional storms of women.

"Hi! I just got in today," I chirped, "Bali was great," I babbled on about the rice paddies, the exuberant orchids, the idyllic beaches, the 9th generation medicine man who hands out prophecies, tripping over my own words out of giddiness. Then gripping onto the receiver, I added, "I'm leaving on Sunday."

I took a deep breath and waited.

He says this and that, jovial as before, asking about my preparations for departure, about Bali, about time of flight, but he doesn't say THAT.

"I still have that bottle of wine I got you from Murky Town", I shoved him a hint, if this can be called a hint at all.

"Oh you are being too polite."

"Polite or not. I got it already. I have to give it to you..."

Long pause.

"Are you free for dinner today or tomorrow?" I said. Breaking the silence.

I grimaced as I said it. It reminds me of that scene in Sex and the City where Samantha was waiting for her boyfriend, lying on the dining room table, covered in sushi, naked.

"I have to work overtime this weekend," he says at last.

My heart dropped into my gut with a splat. Everyone is going out of their way to see me one more time right before I leave. Not him. Not even a little bit. Work...really? Even if he has to work, he still needs to eat, right? But I didn't want force it. I didn't want to be inexorably annoying.

"Then...I guess we won't be able to see each other before I leave..." I lingered.

"Do you have QQ?" he asks.

"No...but we use Facebook...but I don't really use Facebook even...I use email though. I check it every day."

He asked for my email and gave me his.

I clutched the tiny piece of paper with his email address on it, knowing he's just being polite.

I sit there for a long while, in aunt's study. I look around at the computer and the stationary, the books on their shelves, enclosed in glass. Everything seems so still, so lifelessly still.

What did I expect really? Did I really think he'd leave his girlfriend for me? Whether he really had to work overtime that weekend, I would never know. Just like I wouldn't know if without the girlfriend, without the distance, he might actually like me. But even if work was an excuse to avoid me, I respected him for it. I respected his loyalty. I even respected the way he let me down. Cleanly and gently. He set me down like a delicate piece of porcelain, in white kid gloves, without hurting anyone, or breaking anything.

My eyelids feel heavy. After the whirlwind of everything, I suddenly feel tired. I hadn't slept for two days. The fatigue finally hit me.