With a soft kiss, I murmur, “I hope you have sweet dreams tonight.”
His eyebrows twitch. Probably from the dashed assumption that I’d want him to call me later this evening before I fall asleep.
But nope, I’m making it clear he's got space, doesn't even have to think about it. He can instead get some rest. Let it all go.
I stroll to the door, glancing over my shoulder with a smile, but find him eyeing me as he jumps into his truck.
Men are so funny.
In the elevator I dance to wiggle free my pent up energy. As the doors swoosh open, I glide through the corridor, and into our quiet apartment, locking up and excited for Sam to get home so we can talk about how everything went today. I scream like a horror film as she appears in the hallway.
My hand flies to my heart. “You scared me!”
Her open-mouthed grin is so Sammy. “Sorry! Did you think I went to a store or something before coming home? I left like an hour ago.”
“You did?!”
“Yeah, I did! With Zoe. She drove me to Gage’s to get our car back since I needed it in the morning.”
“I didn’t see you go.”
“You were busy.”
“Then you missed Grandma Nance breaking one of her favorite crystal dishes and saying, Oh shit!”
Sammy contains a huge laugh with the back of her hand. “Language!”
“Yep, everyone yelled it.”
“Oh, that’s awesome, Lexi! I’m so glad Gage got to see that. I was waiting for it all party long and when nobody swore I was kinda disappointed! I didn’t know if I should hang out longer just in case!”
I tug off my shoes, “Seriously!” leaving them by our sofa.
“Where is he?”
“Back at his place by now, I guess. I mean, no, not yet. He couldn’t have gotten home yet. He just dropped me off.” Unzipping Zoe’s dress, I realize, “You know what’s funny, Sam?” My sister tilts her head. “Normally I would’ve said something along the lines of, I don’t know where he is, like who cares. But instead, you know what I did?”
She points at me. “You answered like a normal person.”
“I resent that. My normal is what I just said I’d have done! Didn’t I say ‘normally’ because that’s my normal?” Dropping the dress, I stroll down the hallway in black bra and panties, with the plan of exchanging them for comfy sweats. “Don’t compare me to a majority. I don’t blend with those people!”
She laughs, “You’re like a guy, Lexi,” and then her smile fades. “No, Logan isn’t like that.”
I sigh, but refrain from pointing out to my dear sister that she has some serious soul-searching to do. I’m too happy to open that crapshoot again. “I’ll be right out. We’ve gotta talk about today. I think it went well!” Grabbing the doorframe I ask, “Don’t you?”
“How is it you’re always in matching bra and panties?”
“Because I care, Sam, because I care!”
As I disappear into my room I hear her “Phfft,” under her breath.
“Samantha Cocker, show me one guy who complains about matching bra and panties! And don’t tell me they don’t complain about mismatched or raggedy ones. They do in their minds!”
I stick my head out, find her still in the hallway, facing away from me and frozen as logic hits.
Smiling to myself I head for my dresser and whisper a cocky, “That’s what I thought!”
T he next morning, after Sammy and I explored every remembered detail of Gage’s first Cocker Family BBQ, I wake and check my phone, smirking at a blank screen, “Still man-caving, huh?” and ignoring a feeling of foreboding that's beginning to nag at me. What if it isn't just a man-cave moment?
Nah. That's ridiculous!
In the first month we began casually spending time together, texts were never exchanged unless they had purpose — the kind that ends with plans made.
Then one average, ordinary day I got a ‘good morning’ from Gage. I responded with the same, and awaited more conversation. Perhaps an invite. When none came I shrugged and thought nothing more of it.
Two mornings later, another good-morning text. This was after we’d made plans the night before. So I assumed it was to alter them. (Never to cancel. I’m too arrogant to think that he would want to stop seeing me.) However, that good-morning text also came with no clear purpose nor amendment, and when another came the next day, I got giggly. Didn’t tell anyone I did, but I did.
I began looking for them.
The texts initial infrequency only increased my giddiness. Suspense can have that skill when it’s done right.
Then, after about two weeks, I received good-morning texts four days in a row.
One day missed.
Then five or six consecutively.
Then one not missed.
It arrived at lunchtime.
“Hey Cherry. How’s your day at work?”
I replied when I saw them. I didn’t do any dumb waiting-to-text back, but I did stop texting when he did, strictly replying to his messages.
I’m aware men are hunters. It’s in their lizard brains from way back in caveman days, and I like a little growling and grunting from my guy.
Some girls don’t.
I’m not them.
It’s not hard to do. I hate the feeling of waiting for a text that doesn’t come because I’ve stretched a conversation longer than it’s natural lifespan.
I did that with Brad way too often when he really pissed me off. I’d keep texting and he’d ghost me. It was a living nightmare waiting for texts he withheld to control me. That type of suspense can fuck right off. Have a conversation with a girl for cryin’ out loud! Face the fire and deal with it. Or leave!
Heading for our single shower to get ready for a relaxing morning at church, I yell to my girls, “I won’t hog the hot water!”
“I took one already! And Zoe is meeting us there.”
I yelp, “What?” and pad my curiosity into our kitchen to demand, “Tell me everything!”
Sam closes the fridge, a jug of almond milk in her hand. “Its very sordid!”
“Yes! I
