IT'S A WARM DAY. Kind of hot. Almost too hot for June. Sitting in the car doesn’t help. Hair up, sweat on the neck. Home-dyed ombre. $1,015.01 in savings. Phone buzzing. You free tonight? Tinder. He never texted me back. Lorna. Reminder, you have an appointment on July 20th. Press Y to confirm or N to reschedule. Blue texts, stacked on one side. Fuck you. You used me. I’m sorry. Can we talk? Unanswered. 3 days. Sent to a man named Jerry. A man? A boy. Last text is green. What does that mean? Did he block me? Or is he out of service? Fuck him. Say more. Aren’t you angry? Elbow on the open window. 34-year-old child. Fuck boy. That’s what the kids say now? Fuck boys. 3:03 PM. The elementary school. Waiting, thinking. Typing: Go to Hell. Sex wasn’t good anyway. Thanks for the chlamydia. And an emoji. The middle finger. Or a crown. You’re a queen. Send?
Voicemails: 52 unread. Scroll to the blocked ones. 5 from cousin Wendy. All curse words. Delete. What’s she mad about anyway? A picture of the childhood dog on the home screen. Rondo. Notifications: Instagram (you’ve got 50 likes!), Pat (Did you call? Sry was @ work), Theresa (You okay? Got your VM), E-mail (Upcoming Summer Camps!), E-mail (Unfortunately you weren’t the right fit for the position!), Daniel (Friday night – Kats?). Jerry, block me? How could he block me.
“Girl seriously. And he never even texted me back. Like why. Was it offensive? You read the text. I’m just—”
Did someone call? Did I answer. Sounds like Lorna. “—like I don’t get it. Maybe he has a girlfriend? He seemed—”
Lorna: Did your phone die? With an emoji. A sad face.
We should leave. Mexico, maybe. Or New York. Ditch it all. Helena included. Text Helena. Do you have the rent? Send. All that perfume she wears. And the men she brings over. What a mess. Google: how to evict a roommate. Google: how to evict a roommate in the state of California. Ping: Jerry. Jerry: Sorry. Lost my phone.
Stare for a bit. Lost his phone? How convenient. Start typing: Yeah... right. LOL. Think about Rondo. Jerry, typing. Hawaii, might be a good spot. Jerry: Chlamydia?
Text back: YEAH. CHLAMYDIA.
Helena: Not yet. Helena: Sorry.
Incoming call: Lorna.
“Mom?”
The school. A kid. Some parents at the pick-up gate. My car. Should I open the door? Is that my neighbor?
Lorna: Call me back.
The kid, staring. A lady with a clipboard. There’s Jessica. All she does is talk. Annoying. You’d think a therapist wouldn’t be so annoying?
Jerry: I didn’t know I had it?
He’s walking toward me. The neighbor. Married but—should I still fix my hair?
Instagram: 75 likes!
Too hot. Idaho, maybe? Text Daniel: this Migraine WON’T STOP. Tinder: New match. Tinder: New message.
“Excuse me? Sheila.”
An adult. Pointing to the kid. The clipboard.
“You have to sign your son out of the afterschool program.”
Yes, son. A kid. Is that my kid?
— EMMA GREY ROSE
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