Page 14 of Pulse
Burt sighs, laying his fork on the edge of his plate. “You didn’t eat your celebration cake.”
“I know. I’ll eat it after my shower. I have five miles of sweat on me, and I’m beginning to stink.”
I glance down at my phone.
Freddy: Dammit, Dahlia. I just want to talk to you. I need you, baby. I can’t live without you.You know that. You’re my entire world.
Right.
“Promise?” Burt asks.
“Promise.”
We clean up quietly. Burt carefully places my cake in the refrigerator and throws away our garbage. I wipe down the table.
“Thanks for dinner, sweet pea,” Burt says. “Can I do anything for you?”
“I’m good. Your presence was all I needed.”
He chuckles, tossing up a wave, and lets himself out.
I pick my phone up off the table, intending to shove it in my pocket on my way upstairs. But as I turn to the staircase, I stop and glance at the screen.
A slow smile stretches across my lips.
Troy: I just got a confirmation text from Dr. Manning’s office.
I bang out my response.
Me: I’m glad that worked out.
Troy: Settle down.
Me:
Troy: You abuse emoji.
I snort. Whatever.
Me: How else will you know what my face is doing? Texts are so easily misconstrued. I like my messages to feel personal and clear.
Troy: Trust me. I know what your face is doing.
Me: Well, I can’t trust you because I can’t read your face. You could be typing that angrily or cheekily or flatly or conversationally. How am I supposed to know?
Troy: What did people do before emoji?
Me: Lived very boring, muted lives.
Troy: Yet they survived.
I laugh.
Me: There will come a day, Mr. Castelli, when you use an emoji.
Troy: Unlikely. What time does my truck go into the shop tomorrow?
I lean against the wall, smiling as I type.
