Page 122 of Townshipped
I read Aiden’s text response over, out loud to her.
She squeals. And when Gabriela squeals, it’s enough to wake the dead and get them dancing the Cumbia.
“What does it mean?” I ask her.
“It means the man misses you, obviously.”
“But does he miss me like,hey, buddy, I miss you, or,I miss our stolen middle-of-the-night kisses?”
“Okay, first of all you said he had kissed you, not kisses plural, so we are definitely going to talk. And stolen? Middle of the night? Oooh, girl. You’ve been holding out! But back to your question. The only way to find out where he stands is to text him back. Or call him.”
“I’m not calling him.”
“Okay, well, don’t leave the man hanging. Text him back. Ask him about the kids or the farm or something neutral. Build up to the big talk about feelings. But don’t back off.” She pauses and places her hand over the mouthpiece. She shouts, “I’m coming, Mama!”
“You go,” I tell her. “I’ll text Aiden back and I’ll keep you posted.”
“Go get your man,” she says, ever the optimist.
41
AIDEN
Isit alone in my office, staring at my phone like some lovesick adolescent boy waiting anxiously to see if his crush will text him back. I couldn’t believe it when her first text came in. She misses me. She typed it twice.
But seriously,Granger misses you? I could have come up with something a little more … I don’t know. Just not that. I told her the dog misses her. Winner winner, chicken dinner.
And, now, a minute has passed since I texted. A minute sounds short. But have you ever sat waiting for an entire minute, eyes riveted to a phone, hoping against hope for an answer that tells you the woman of your dreams hasn’t written you off? That’s one long minute.
Did I come on too heavy? Scare her off?
I stand and pace in front of my desk. I could call her.
Granger stands and follows me back and forth like he thinks we’re going somewhere. I look down at him.
“Crazy, Granger. That’s where I’m going. Just crazy.”
I hear the ding of a text notification and my heart rate doubles.
Em:So, we both miss one another?
Aiden:Sounds like it.
Em:I promise I can text! I can’t believe I hit send on that. Why aren’t there delete buttons on text messages?
Aiden:I’ll start working on a configuration for that. Maybe I’ll be the next Bill Gates.
Em:You should.
Aiden:So … I’m sick of texting.
Em:???
I don’t even think. Before I know what I’m doing, I’m pressing her contact number to call her.
“Hey,” she answers. “You’re sick of texting?”
Her voice is music. She is light—my sunrise and sunset. A mere few words from her feels like coming home. My feelings are dramatic, unexpected, but they are the truest thing I know.
