Page 57 of If Not for My Baby
I can’t help my schoolgirl smile as I write back:
Hi, Tom Halloran.
I add him to my contacts, lock my phone, and am swallowed up once again by oppressive darkness. Rolling to my other side offers no comfort and neither does rubbing my feet together like a giddy cricket. I flex them toward the wall where Wren’s head lies on the other side.
Relax,I tell myself,go to sleep.
I’m wondering if the bump we just sailed over wasn’t another bus altogether, when my phone buzzes at my hip and my whole body clenches. I’ve never opened the damn thing so fast.
Tom Halloran:What are you doing awake? It’s nearly four.
If I had any resolve at all, I’d put the phone away and answer him in the morning. Play it cool, as my mom always instructed. But, alas, I have the willpower of a grapefruit.
Clementine:I could ask you the same question.
He responds instantly.
Tom Halloran:Nocturnal, remember?
Clementine:Right, right. Spooky.
Tom Halloran:And you?
Clementine:I’m a light sleeper. I think that last pothole we drove over shook my jaw from its socket.
Tom Halloran:Not your lovely jaw!
My smile isshameful.
Clementine:Tragic, I know.
Tom Halloran:Come back here.
I read it, and then reread it. My heart has stalled out, wheezing on its hands and knees.
Come back here.
The thought of all his weight pressed against me beneath bedsheets—his hugeness and his smell…
The little text bubble pops up, indicating he’s typing,before it disappears again. I imagine him fearing he’s come on too strong and debating what to say next. But I’m at a loss, too. The onslaught of how much I want to be held by him in the quiet dark kind of scares me.
Finally, he adds:
Tom Halloran:This bed is sturdier.
Tom Halloran:And will be warmer with you in it.
I catch my breath and write back before I do something I know we’ll both regret.
Clementine:Bad idea!
Tom Halloran:Agreed. Inappropriate for you to even suggest such a thing.
Clementine:You’re a monster. Good night.
Tom Halloran:Good night.
I’m still smiling when I lock my phone and roll over. I wish he wasn’t sweet and funny, too. That kind of charisma doesn’t just evaporate after one filthy night the way it might if he were only a handsome face. In fact, watching him overcome, groaning on top of me, choking on my name—it might make these pesky feelings even worse.
