One Foot (In Front of the Other)
The fog was just starting to roll in again for the evening. The air was chilly, but the natural breeze felt nice after the past few hours of overly air conditioned antiseptic. Before I let myself think about food or friends (or sweats), I fished my phone out of my bag through old receipts and used gum wrappers.
I ignored other notifications on my screen-I just needed to call him, my last option. Derek Morgan. I found his name on my contact list and prayed to the phone gods that his number was still the same. We tried to stay in touch, but an entire country and busy schedules made it nearly impossible. The line began to ring as I walked home, and as soon as he picked up I began my speech:
"Hello?" I paused, waiting for him to reply and then continuing when he didn't, "Hey, I know it's been...I don't know, anyway," still no answer, "Derek?"
"Ummm, hi," a strange, feminine voice answered.
"You're not Derek?" I had a feeling I would strike out with this question.
"Um, no," she paused for a second, "this is his girlfriend." I could not think of a time when he had a girlfriend-at least not one that would answer his phone.
"Girlfriend?" twice in one day, I was at a loss for words. Then I remembered that I was following a higher purpose, "Well, then, is Derek available?"
"No, he isn't, sorry."
"Can you let him know that I called-this is Keeva."
"I guess," she sounded upset.
"Thank you," I finished weirdly. The conversation was getting even more awkward.
"Okay, bye then." she said. We both hung up.
I kept walking. I couldn't fight the nagging feeling that I was never going to hear from Derek Morgan. That I had just lost my final chance. I should have pleaded with her. I'm not the Other Woman, I should have said. Not this time and not with Derek. And, suddenly, I felt the pain of it all again-right there, on the street. We had spent the day together in bed, hours of white sheets and laughter. We only got up to take Dexter to the park and to call for take out. His ringless hand holding mine, the perfect fit.
I stopped walking. Stopped thinking. I couldn't do this now. I needed to get home and hug Dexter. Luckily, my phone rang. I didn't even bother looking at who it was, maybe a telemarketer could distract me.
"Hey! It's Trevor," he yelled at me through the phone, over the noise of people and clinking glasses.
"Hello," Trevor was better than a telemarketer.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing that a little bit of red wine won't fix, what's up?"
"Oh, good!" he paused as something distracted him, and then he laughed, "I wasn't sure what time you would get off work today, and you didn't answer my texts," he chastised me.
"I'm glad you called," I said in lieu of sorry.
"I am too, Kee," he paused again as something interesting happened, the background noise was intense, "well, we'd love for you to join us. We're going dancing later, and you sound like you need it, sweets."
"That sounds like just what this doctor ordered," a distraction for the day would probably help, "I just need to run home."
"I'll send you the details," said Trevor, "See you soon."
"Okay, bye."
