Page 32 of Back in the Saddle

“’Night,” he murmured.

Then he was gone.

I stared at the space he used to be in until I heard him call from down the walkway, “Close the door and lock it, Jessie.”

I closed the door and locked it.

I then woodenly turned to look at my apartment.

The TV was off.

The black-and-white-striped throw Eric had pulled over him was folded on the edge of the couch (the diagonal stripe one I was using was in a bunch on the floor).

There were no bowls or mugs lying around.

I wandered to my kitchen.

I heard the dishwasher whirring and saw that our crumble bowls and coffee mugs were nowhere to be seen.

“What’s happening?” I asked my sink.

The sink had no answers.

I needed a pet.

Pets had no answers either, but at least you didn’t feel like a moron when you talked to them.

I went to the bathroom, brushed my teeth, washed my face, moisturized and pulled my dark hair up into a ponytail.

I then went to my bedroom, turned on a light beside my bed and donned my pajamas (yes, black leopards crawling over a white background, drawstring sleep shorts and a long-sleeved pajama top—when I sought control of my surroundings, I didn’t mess around).

I went back out and checked the lock on the door I’d locked maybe five minutes before, grabbed my phone, extinguished the lights and headed back to the bedroom.

I was sitting with my back to my headboard, zebra print comforter tucked to my lap, flicking through TikToks to kill time, when it came in.

Home.

The text from Eric.

I programmed him into my phone, then sent,Good. Thanks for starting the dishwasher.

No problem.

This did not say, “I don’t want the day to end either, keep me engaged.”

I nibbled the side of my thumb, trying to decide if I should text something else.

He didn’t send another text while I was deciding.

Which decided for me.

It also reminded me I wasn’t that girl. I didn’t wait up to get a text when I was sleepy, and I didn’t obsess about whether a guy was into me or not.

With that reminder of who I was, I put my phone down on the charge pad, turned out the light and settled in, ignoring the fact I felt empty and very alone in that bed. Both feelings I was used to, so for the most part ignored. Neither feeling boded well, making themselves known in a manner I couldn’t ignore after spending the day with Eric Turner.

I was pulling the covers up to my shoulder when a text coming in illuminated the area of my nightstand.

It would have been embarrassing if anyone saw how fast my hand moved to grab my phone.

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