Are We There Yet

It was one of those old-fashioned public phone booths that were so common before mobiles. He was grateful to have spotted it because this way she wouldn’t recognize his number. He fed the slot several coins and shivered in the autumn air as he dialed.

He felt that familiar rush of adrenalin that came from anticipating her mood. She picked up on the second ring.

“Hello.” The gaiety in her tone sounded genuine and promising. Her voice was just as he remembered it when she was entertaining. Flirtatious and sultry. She took a long drag on an ever-present cigarette. “Who is this?” she said.

He realized he’d been lost in thought, trying to picture her after so much time. There was laughter in the background. Male, from the sound of it. She’d always preferred the company of men. So had he. They’d shared that much in common.

“It’s me,” he said. No need for anything more. A brief silence ensued and then a heavy sigh as she exhaled cigarette smoke.

“Well look who’s come out of mothballs. It’s been a while,” she said. Four years to be exact. Nothing marks the passage of time like the life of a child. Her voice was tight and measured now, like elastic pulled taut. The tone she reserved for him alone.

“I’m in town for a short visit,” he said. “I hoped you might want to get together.”

There he was again. Chasing the attention of a woman he couldn’t stop loving despite the futility of it. The sensation made him feel small and pathetic.

“What’s in it for me?” she said.

“A sweet surprise I know you’ll like.”

Another pause. He could hear her breathing. Calling after five in the afternoon had been a mistake. She was always well lubricated by then and combative or tearful by turns.

“It’s just like you to assume I’d be sitting by the phone waiting for your call,” she said, with the same old defiance. The background laughter had subsided and there was muffled whispering on the other end.

“Maybe this isn’t a good time. I won’t keep you,” he said.

“Is he with you?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “We were hoping you’d want to meet your…”

The line went dead. He replaced the receiver, opened the phone booth and marched back to his car, fighting to keep his anger and humiliation in check. He slid into the driver’s side, buckled his seat belt and started the ignition. He felt his husband’s sympathetic gaze but avoided eye contact.

“Are we there yet, Daddy?” came his young daughter’s voice from the backseat. His heart seized with a different kind of love.

“Soon,” said the husband. “Daddy just wanted to call an old friend.”

“My mother wasn’t interested,” he said, staring straight ahead at the empty road before them.