Appeal Denied

2015-NYC/UK-18: Motion to Substitute Party

October 14, 2015

When the phone rang, I was curled up on the couch, the floor enhanced with a tissue carpet, and the coffee table decorated with cold medicine and empty Gatorade bottles.

"Brains?"

My heart did a thousand somersaults when I heard his deep voice.

"Harry," I acknowledged and no one should judge me if my voice went a little soft. "My phone missed your ringtone," I teased.

"How are you?" He asked, chuckling at my lame joke. "Cold any better?"

"No," I croaked. "Need chicken soup pronto." Although we had been texting frequently (which is how he knew I was suffering from the mother of all viruses), this was our first conversation in three weeks.

"Awwww. I'm sorry, Brains."

"Where are you?" I felt weird asking, but I tried hard not to follow his every move. We had no connection beyond our sexual contract, and I didn't want to presume.

"England," he replied, and the silence after that pronouncement stretched on for way too long as I waited to find out why he was calling. His tone didn't sound like this was a chitchat kind of call.

"Ummmm....," he paused, "I've been thinking about our agreement."

"You have?" Confusion colored my voice like the fluffy white clouds on the blue sky of this NYC October day. "What about it?"

There was a long pause, enough that I wondered if we'd been disconnected, but I could hear his raspy breathing. It matched mine, and I was sick. What was going on?

"I, um, might want to...um....." The next words when they came were whispered, "cancel it. Ummmm, you know, invoke our 48 hour notice."

The way he asked, tentatively, as though he wanted permission to sprout wings and soar into the sun, brought a 50 ton weight to my chest.

"Oh." My voice was small and shock tinged my tone. "Well, uh, okay. Have you already —"

"NO!" he interrupted vehemently. "We have a contract. A commitment. But I, um, wondered if 2 days is really necessary?"

Not gonna lie. I doubled over in pain, hugging my knees, tears springing to my eyes, my lungs unable to pull in oxygen. It was like being told that there would be no more Christmases. Ever. Like knowing that a favorite television show had ended without the final episodes airing. Like every flower on the face of the earth disappeared without warning. Like what the dinosaurs must have experienced when the asteroid was hurtling into the atmosphere. Like when the electricity goes out on a 110° day. Like....death. Sudden.

But we had a binding pact, so I gathered my wits and did the decent, responsible, adult thing. Above all, I didn't want to reveal my emotions: to be the clingy, devastated girlfriend. We were adults who had knowingly entered into this mutual compact, and I was never his girlfriend.

"Well," I started, "the contract says 48 hours, but since we're ending it, I suppose I can waive the notice."

"Wait. You're not going to try to talk me out of it?" The tin can on a string sound of his voice came from far away, which I guess made sense considering he was in England and I was in New York.

I sighed deeply which set off a coughing fit as my lungs exploded. "Harry," I said after a sip of water calmed my angry chest, "if you've found someone..."

"I have," his quiet voice with hurtful confidence echoed through the distance between us, wounding more deeply than losing my first mock case in law school.