Erica
I woke up on the sofa.
That part wasn’t unusual. Unusual was the blanket tucked over me, the lamp switched off, and no sign of whoever had done either of those things.
Potato was on her corner cushion. Unbothered.
“Did he say goodbye to you at least?” I asked her.
She ignored me completely.
I sat up, checked my phone. No missed calls. No message explaining where he’d gone. Just the exchange from the night before still sitting there at the top of my screen, ending with his — eat something, you never eat on travel days — which I’d sent and immediately felt embarrassed about, but he hadn’t replied to.
I typed quickly. You left without waking me. Rude.
Then I put the phone down, fed Potato, made tea, and waited.
His reply came while I was staring at my mug.
On a plane.
I read
