Page 100 of A Flighty Fake Boyfriend
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In the morning,I ordered an American breakfast, a fruit bowl, and a pot of coffee. I felt strangely good—relieved—despite being on the road all day the day before. I guess the fact I didn't drink myself to sleep the night before had something to do with my positive mood, but Epic’s willingness to forgive me and an open line of communication between us made all the difference.
Before I left the hotel, I sent another note.
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Dear Epic,
You know I’m a millennial, right? There’s nothing boomer about me.
And just because your kind can converse in one hundred forty characters or fewer with no punctuation doesn’t mean you should.
There was a time when the manly arts included painting and poetry. Have you never watched Chinese palace dramas?
At any rate, I’m going to defend my email writing because I like feeling connected to you even in this small way. I hit Send, and then I stall out while waiting for you to reply. It’s as if my heart comes to life when I see your name in my inbox.
Going to your place and finding you gone hurt. I’m not going to lie.
I miss you. I miss us. That’s the truth.
But I don’t know what I could have done differently.
Whatever you do, wherever you are, at least take my words with you. Give me your words in return.
Yours,
Ryan
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The next replydidn’t come until I was back in Vancouver.
I keyed the lock on my apartment door. Inside, I found the same serviceable, monochromatic design scheme. Gray walls, charcoal couch, wood floors with a gray rug in a geometric pattern.
My place could have been a page in any furniture catalogue. Well lit, nice windows with natural light. Archeologically themed knickknacks were all that saiddecor. Without those, my place could be interchanged with any other apartment on this floor.
The living room smelled of lemon cleaner and beeswax candles.
In the bedroom, I placed my suitcase and garment bag on the bed where I emptied them routinely. I filled a laundry hamper, hung up the suits, and placed my toiletry kit under the sink for the next trip.
The air tasted staler in there. Musty and smoky from my clothes. The bedding needed changed. I opened a window to let in fresh air.
In the bath, I sat on the lip of the tub, listening for the longest time.
I don’t know what I expected to hear. Plumbing sounds. A door opening or closing in the hall. The occasional honk of a horn from the traffic on the street below. Nothing human. No children’s laughter or barking dogs. No wind or waves. No music drifting on the breeze from Nacho’s Bar.
The world I lived in seemed sterile and uninhabited by comparison. How had I never noticed?
I went to my home office and booted up my desktop computer where I checked for messages from Epic. My unread emails numbered in the high fifties, but the only one I cared about was his. I opened it first.
* * *
Dear Ryan,
You missus?
Now you’re going to say that? Now, when I’m a thousand miles away?
