I should check my phone.
No messages.
So, I text.
Simon: Hey. Woke up alone. It sucked. Couldn’t sleep with a wookie on your ass?
No response.
But, really, it’s only been three seconds.
I distract myself by making coffee. And then I check my phone again. What? It’s been like six minutes.
Still no response.
What the hell? How could she have been here last night, been so real, so right, and just be gone this morning? It’s like I’ve been visited by the tooth fairy, except she was a sex goddess.
I LOOK AT MYphone for what has to be the fourteenth time since I got home a few hours ago. I know, right? I’m exceedingly proud of the restraint I’ve shown.
Simon: Hey. Woke up alone. It sucked. Couldn’t sleep with a wookie on your ass?
…
Simon: Everything okay?
…
Simon: Is this an elaborate game of hide and seek? If so, you’re totally winning.
…
Mom: I forgot to tell you that single women over thirty-five are six times more likely to be the victim of a violent crime. Your father heard that on the news. We just worry about you, dear.
...
Simon: Was it seriously the sheets? Say the word, and I’ll burn them. (Sacrilegious as that is).
Ok. Based on these messages, I have a strong urge to kidnap Simon, relocate, and change my name. I’ll pick something fierce and exotic like Desdemona or Xanthe.
Confusion reads loud and clear from his texts. I hate hurting him, but I know it’s better this way. He’ll be sad, he’ll go get drunk with other 20-something hotties, and then he’ll go to trivia night and find some cute girl who knows and lists random Star Wars facts on command. I’ll be a hazy memory by mid-week.
Ugh. But I can’t just sit here and wallow in my own misery and old age. Simon’s a smart guy. A smart guy with my address, since he drove me to work on Wednesday. And he hates suspense. He gets seriously cross when he can’t figure something out. Secret Santa annoys the shit out of him. He reads the last chapter of the book first. As a lifelong bibliophile, this shocks and offends me, but it’s textbook Simon. I think he sees the world as a giant Rubik’s cube just waiting to be solved. He’s got to be the most curious person I’ve ever met. So, yeah. If I stick around, chances are good he’ll be knocking on my door, wanting to know what the hell happened. He’ll want answers I’m not ready to give, even though I know they are, ultimately, the right answers.
This calls for an escape plan? And where better to escape to than a spa?
I make reservations online and then pick up my phone to text Molly, only to find a brand new slew of messages. God, I’ve never been this popular.
Simon: Did I imagine last night?
…
Simon: Nope. Just checked my back in the mirror. Those scratches are clearly your doing.
…
Simon: Unless I got a pet tiger last night…
…
