Tuesday evening I picked up my phone four times.
Put it down each time without doing anything.
The first time: too soon. It had only been nine days since the call. Reaching out now would signal something I wasn't ready to name.
The second time: what would I even say. There was no professional reason. The merger was closed. He was in D.C. Any message I sent would be personal and therefore require acknowledging that it was personal, which defeated the point of the boundary I'd put up.
Third time: I just checked the time. Eight forty-seven. Too late anyway.
Fourth time I set the phone face-down and went to make tea.
Stood at the kettle and thought: this is exhausting. The calculation required to not contact someone who had, at no point, been anything other than decent to me.
The kettle
