love me. But right now? It’s just me in an empty house.
Maybe it’s time to forget my whole anti-marriage stance.
Maybe it’s time to finally sell Morgan-Beckwith.
Maybe it’s time to stop thinking about what-ifs with Zoey and move on. Or make the what-ifs a reality.
I’m not sure which option scares me more.
It’s all these maybes and the dull ache that has me pulling out my phone. There isn’t a reason to update Zoey on Nancy. Not really. But Zoey did ask that I keep her posted.
Isn’t it just common courtesy to check in?
I’ve had Zoey’s number plugged into my phone since the week I started at Morgan-Beckwith, but rarely have excuses to text her. I secretly hoped our rare professional texts would somehow slide into real conversations on their own. As though after reminding her to file something, we might easily segue into talking about what Netflix shows we’re bingeing or what she’s doing Saturday night. Because nothing says let’s chat casually quite like a text asking about Excel spreadsheets.
Before I can overthink it, I type out something decidedly not professional and tap send.
Gavin: I saw Nancy. She’s alive but it was touch and go.
The moments stretch out, allowing me to realize how stupid I was for messaging her at all. She’s probably asleep. And what kind of text was that? Definitely not funny. I was going for not professional, and I think I scored there, but …
The phone buzzes.
Zoey: WHAT?! Gavin, is she okay?
I grimace. Yep, total text fail.
But she texted me!
Gavin: Sorry—she’s fine. I was making a joke.
Zoey: About Nancy being sick?
I groan, rubbing a hand over my eyes. Zoey might be younger, but somehow, I’ve been reverted to the teenage boy trying to see if a girl wants to go out. Or go steady. Whatever the kids are calling it these days.
So, I do the logical thing. I double down on my attempts at humor.
Gavin: When I got there, her cat looked like it was about to start eating her. So, I do think it was a close call.
Zoey: In that case, glad you saved her.
Gavin: Thanks. Her sister, Patty, is there now. She can deal with the cat issue.
Zoey: BTW, I’m not a cat person.
I grin, feeling like I accomplished something. We are texting. Unprofessionally. And I only sounded like a pretty big idiot, not a giant one.
Gavin: Me neither. Do you like dogs?
Lame. So, so lame.
But flirting via text is not my area of expertise. When I was dating Eleanor, texting was barely a thing. I mean, people texted, but phones weren’t an extension of people the way they are now.
Which reminds me again about the age gap between me and Zoey. She probably has tons of guys texting her all the time, using the right gifs and lingo. I spend the time waiting for her response doing mental math, guessing her father’s age. I don’t like the way the figures go. The reality is that he could be just a few years older than me.
But! He could also be one of those guys who became a dad late in life. I’m sure that’s it. He’s got to be pushing seventy. No way he’s also in his forties like me. Because that would be … horrifying. Maybe worse than the bra situation with Nancy earlier.
Zoey: I only like dogs if they don’t have tons of hair. I’m not into shedding.
Gavin: Big or small dogs?
Zoey: Big.
Gavin: So, not a hairless dog you could put in your purse, then?
Zoey: LOL. No. No. No.
Zoey: I despise purse dogs. My brother dated a girl with one. It ended quickly, thank goodness.
Gavin: How old is your brother?
I imagine Zoey as the big sister, being the one in charge. No way does she have the personality of the baby of the family.
Zoey: We’re twins.
I stare down at my phone. Zoey is a twin? It blows my mind a little bit.
Zoey: But I’m older. By two whole minutes.
Zoey: And each of those minutes counts.
I smile at that. I was right, and I agree that the two minutes matter. I bet she rubs it in his face often.
Tension I didn’t know I had is easing in my shoulders. After two years, this feels like some kind of milestone. Now, we’re getting into the personal stuff. Earlier today, it stung when she accused me of not knowing her at all. It wasn’t an accusation really. Just a statement. But it felt like a blow directly to my chest. She was right though, and now that