“Fine.”
She picked up her phone.
“Can I have his number?”
I handed her the sheet of paper I had written it down on, and she started dialing the number and held the phone against her ear. I took the groceries into the kitchen and listened to her struggle to call the guy.
“No service up here, Ma.”
“We have no service?”
“How did you not know that?”
“You got my texts, right?”
I looked over at her a little too sarcastically.
“No service means no. I didn’t get any of your texts.”
“Hey now, you don’t have to look at me like that when you say that.”
“How am I supposed to look?”
She realized this was turning into an argument and, in a frustrated, exasperated groan, walked out of the room. I continued putting away the groceries and heard her enter the car and drive away. The house became
