Page 7 of Mr. Wrong Number

I hadn’t actually told anyone in the world what’d happened with Eli yet, so it felt good, having someone say that.

Me:You say that, but would you ever be that stupid?

Mr. Wrong Number:No comment.

I snorted.See?

Mr. Wrong Number:How about I give you one of my stupid moments to even this out?

Me:I thought you said it wasn’t stupid.

Mr. Wrong Number:Hush.

Me:Please continue.

Mr. Wrong Number:In college, I proposed to my girlfriend without a ring.

Me:That’s not stupid.

Mr. Wrong Number:She said no because—and I quote—“if you knew me at all, you’d know I want a ring.”

Me:Oof.

Mr. Wrong Number:Right?

Me:I can’t imagine having my life together enough IN COLLEGE to propose marriage. I was still getting floor-licking drunk every weekend right up until graduation.

Mr. Wrong Number:Maybe I should’ve tried that, instead.

Me:I’m guessing you’re over it?

Mr. Wrong Number:Why are you guessing that?

Me:Because you’re sending “what are you wearing” texts to randos.

Mr. Wrong Number:I AM over it, but you were a misdial, not a rando. I was sending that text to someone I knew, remember?

Me:Oh, yes—of course.

I stretched my legs out in front of me and looked up at the stars. It was a gorgeous night, and I was actually having fun.

Talking to a wrong number.

God, I was pathetic.

Me:Listen, Wrong Number, you seem like a damned delight, but I don’t have any interest in an internetfriend. I’ve seen Catfish and 90 Day Fiancé, and that is not my jam.

Mr. Wrong Number:Nor mine.

Me:So... have a great night, then.

Mr. Wrong Number:So that’s it? It’s either zero or Catfish?

Me:Afraid so.

Mr. Wrong Number:And this isn’t the internet, for the record.

Me:True, but still the same.

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