But don’t get the citrus ones. They taste like someone remembering an orange
Anne grinned, delighted. She’d restrained herself from reaching out after their Tuesday phone call, wanting to respect Sadie’s space, but it hadn’t been easy.
Maybe it hadn’t been easy for Sadie either. That text seemed to suggest she’d been thinking about how Anne was doing with her sobriety exercise. And worrying, knowing Sadie. Was that why she was approaching the subject so tentatively, as if she thought being direct might scare Anne off the abstinence track?
Sadie didn’t need to worry. But her worry felt good to Anne, too. A little like an embrace.
There’s a few six-packs of raspberry nectarine in the fridge.I’m going through cans like I’ve got a sponsorship.
Three days alcohol-free. So far so good.
Well, not good. Successful.
How did the campus interview go?
Some old timer with an asshole goatee tried to grill me on semiotics like I was a graduate student
So I told him the gap between signifier and signified was about as large as the gap between him and appropriate behavior
Probably not the wisest move, but the women in the room sure loved it
Otherwise, it went just fine
That’s wonderful. I’m very glad.
Anne sat down on the side of the bed. If Sadie were here, Anne would ask her for a thorough retelling of the asshole goatee anecdote; no one told stories like Sadie, with timing and emphasis a stand-up comedian would envy. And Anne would listen. Or she’d try, she really would, but, inevitably, her attention would settle on the impish delight playing over Sadie’s face, the way Sadie’s unrestrained, uninhibited pleasure made her more beautiful than any woman Anne had ever known.
Yet another joy Anne would wait for, as patiently as she could, and tell herself she didn’t need to claw at her own insides tryingto get to a future where she’d have Sadie’s pleasure, over and over again, all the way to forever.
So you’re at Sam’s now?
Safely ensconced in his guest room
He’s making our mother’s brisket for dinner, the mensch
I just took a much-needed fifteen-minute catnap
Woke up to yet another text from Hal asking if I’m all right
He’s a very compassionate person.
You’re lucky.
We talked on the phone two hours ago
Yes, you’re right
No mother’s more lucky than I am
He’s mayn neshomele, my little soul
But
I’m trying to figure out how I want to put this
Anne knew better than to reply, even with encouragement. Any distraction would disrupt Sadie’s thought process.
For nearly a minute, there were no more texts. Then: