Happy Merry Everything (Charlie Barber)

Tapestry

Ten digits. They like tiny phantoms, floating around the ether on their own. When put together, they formed a whole ghost. Never in all your days on your earth did you think something as pedestrian as a phone number would leave you feeling so haunted. Well, maybe not haunted. The feeling, unsettling and curious, was fleeting, but that didn't stop from experiencing a pang of regret the very second your finger pressed "call." The phone call itself was a necessary evil. You knew it had to be made. It was the only way. Your mind was a cruel mistress and a worse friend, dreaming up every unpleasant unfathomable scenario each synapse would allow. The ringing of the line in your ear made you want to hang up that much more. Damn the version of you whose bright idea this was, whose poor decisions led you to an outcome resulting in your potential anguish and undoing. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Any minute now, you'd hear a voice on the line. You hoped for a kind one with an ounce of understanding, but you would have to settle for whatever you got.

RING.

Your gut was bubbling up, like your stomach was a sailboat cruising along a rough current.

RING.

Scratch that. It was more like a struggling lifeboat braving the whipping winds and unforgiving waves of an angry pitch black sea.

RING.

You couldn't place your nerves. Though social anxiety and expectation had kept you in check in the past, you were a different person now. A phone call posed no threat, not any real one anyway. You peeked at the time and depressed the option for speakerphone. The urge to hang up refused to lessen with each continued ring.

"Hello?" replied the curious voice. It was now or never. You smiled, hoping it would make you sound upbeat.

"Nicole?"

She said your name and you made a polite noise in reply. The element of mutual surprise was amusing.

"How's it going?" you asked; it was a genuine inquiry as much as it facilitated conversation. You could hear her grasping at words on the other end and the clink of what sounded like glass.

"Fine," said Nicole. "I'm-I'm fine. Henry's fine. We're fine."

It was going to be one of those conversations. "Good. That's great," you offered, hoping your pleasantries weren't strained. You knew how to converse like a person, but conversations with Nicole were rare. You could count the number of times you had been alone together on one hand. Even with Charlie present the words you exchanged were few and often uncomfortable. Then again, you imagined it would be difficult for anyone to get to know someone when the person in question had more interest in cutting you down than learning anything of substance.

Getting your goat was her favorite pastime. At times, you wondered what she could accomplish if she put half as much energy into something as she did disliking you. Either you were a little lost puppy following Charlie around looking for a warm place to call home or you were a young floosy sexpot fucked her ex-husband to exhaustion set out to tarnish his good name. You were never anyone to be respected. You were a plaything whose sole purpose was to keep his bed and dinner warm.

With all the time spent in your head, you managed to lose sight of the fact you were still on the phone. It hadn't been your intention to create a dramatic lapse in conversation, but the deafening silence was threatening to suck all oxygen from the room.

"So," Nicole started, saying your name. "I'm sure this is gonna sound bitchy, but what made you call? I didn't even know you had my number. I'm guessing you got it from Charlie."

"Oh," you muttered. Nicole was a lot of things, but she wasn't a mind reader. You implored your brain to get in sync with your mouth and pick up the pace. You spied your airpod case on the table and reached for it, retrieving an airpod, sliding it into your ear.