Page 1 of Text Appeal

CHAPTER ONE

If I hadn’t been bored and lonely, I’d never have answered the text. But I sent out my new number hours ago and only three people responded. My mother, a guy I’d ghosted, and Grandpa. He sent a fire emoji. It’s his answer to everything: Dad sharing his recipe for apple and walnut salad, Cousin Charlie and their partner getting engaged, Great Uncle Doug dying in his sleep… No one knows for sure what he thinks it means, but it enriches the family chat to no end.

But back to me and my sad state. My body might be worn out from hauling my belongings up three flights of stairs (boo to the broken elevator), however, my mind is wide awake. Though that’s not unusual. Insomnia sucks.

Time to check my cell for the hundredth time. There were so many promises to keep in touch from my various friends and acquaintances, but they’re not responding. They’re probably out hitting the bars before heading to brunch in the morning, as per usual. Every weekend at home is the same. Heck. Every day is the same. Which is why, despite being allergic to change,I have made the move from a city in the desert to a small town on the coast.

All my life I’ve dreamed of living by the sea. Most of my childhood was spent watchingThe Little Mermaid,SpongeBob SquarePants,andThe Blue Planet. And to think—it only took me twenty-nine years to get my shit together. While the fantasy was a lighthouse shrouded in mist sitting above a jagged coastline, an apartment on Main Street also works. The lease is for three months. More than enough time to figure out if I belong in the Pacific Northwest.

Like any self-respecting small town, things quiet down after nine when the restaurants close. Though some bars stay open, since it’s Saturday. Two hours from the nearest city, there’s no hum of traffic. But there are still many new noises to distract me and keep me from settling in. The salt wind racing past the big old brick building. The faint strains of jazz music coming from a neighbor’s apartment. And the delightful chime of my cell receiving a text.

Unknown: You can’t just ignore me. We need to talk.

Me: Wrong number.

Unknown: C’mon, Connor.

Me: No one named Connor here. You have the wrong number.

Unknown: Stop lying to me. We’ve known each other too long for this shit.

Me: But not long enough for him to give you his new number, apparently.

Unknown: Ouch. No. I don’t believe it. There’s no way you’d give up boobs.

Me: Boobs?

Unknown: The last five digits of the number. 80085

Me: Ha. I hadn’t noticed.

Unknown: He’s had it since high school. It was his juvenile pride and joy.

Me: Maybe he finally outgrew it.

Unknown: Hang on. You’re his new girlfriend, aren’t you?

Me: No again.

Unknown: I don’t believe you.

Me: Okay.

Unknown: You admit it?

Me: Nope. Just acknowledging that being wrong is a choice you can make. It’s your life.

Unknown: Giving you his cell and getting you to deal with me sounds about right. The last time we spoke he was not happy. Do you make him happy?

Me: I don’t even know him.

Unknown: I don’t believe you. Things have changed. Tell him I need to talk to him.

Me: He still isn’t here.

Unknown: I wouldn’t give him the cell either if I was you.

Me: Whendid you two last actually talk?

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