“No, she died.” He was quiet for a moment, not sure what to say, and he didn’t ask who had replaced her.
“I miss you, Blaise.” He said it in a soft, husky voice, filled with emotion. But he had the inflections of an actor from reading the news, and she didn’t believe him.
“That’s nice to know.” It was all she could muster, and she wanted to get off the phone. He just made her unhappy.
“What about you? Happy?” He thought she sounded different, but he wasn’t sure.
“I’m fine. I’d better get back to dinner. Thank you for calling.” She didn’t mean it, but didn’t know what else to say. Thank you for reminding me of how sad you made me, for disappointing me, and lying. Thank you for breaking my heart, and staying in touch with me, to remind me, and torture me, whenever you get bored. She knew that all she had to do was stop taking his calls, but somehow she never did. At least not yet.
“You sound so formal,” he reproached her. “I still love you,” he whispered, and she wanted to scream, “No, you don’t! You never did,” but she didn’t. Instead she didn’t respond, just said goodbye and hung up. He was a relic from the past, the ancient debris of her love life. He was dead to her but not buried yet.
She went back to dinner, looking subdued, annoyed at herself, as she always was, that she’d taken the call. He always unnerved her, and talking to him was so pointless. She took his calls out of habit, more than any desire to talk to him.
Salima had left the table when she went back, and Simon finished loading the dishwasher and turned toward her with a grim look, and then sat down with a cup of tea. He hadn’t made one for her, which was unusual for him.
“Why do you still talk to him?” He knew exactly who it was, just from her tone of voice and the fact that she left the room. She took all her other calls in front of him. But it was embarrassing to talk to Andrew with Simon in the room. There was something humiliating about it. Andrew was a symbol of loss and defeat.
“I almost never do anymore,” she defended herself. “And to be honest, I don’t know why. Maybe because it’s familiar, or there’s been no one else since, or because I want to prove he doesn’t upset me.”
“But he does. I can see it in your face and in your eyes. He makes you feel like shit about yourself.” She couldn’t deny it, it was true. “It’s masochistic,” Simon accused her, and he was angry, at Andrew and at her.
“Maybe. It’s human. I’m not perfect. I’ve been trying to work my way out of that maze since he left. It takes time.”
“Four years? That’s crazy.” He was being hard on her, and he looked hurt.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry if it upset you. I’m not involved with him. And he hardly calls anymore. Sometimes I don’t even take the calls.”
“Then why did you tonight? Do you still miss him?” He was searching her eyes for the answers.
“Not really. Not at all, in fact. And surely not since you’ve been here. For the past two months, I never thought about him. Before that, I did. It’s lonely here, Simon. I’ve been alone for a long time.”
“You’re better off by yourself than with a guy like him.”
“I know that,” she said softly, and then Simon looked at her strangely.
“Would you take him back if he came back to you now?”
“No, I wouldn’t.” She looked and sounded certain. She was sure.
“Then why talk to him?”
“Old times’ sake. I’m still friends with Harry. I talk to him.”
“You’re not friends with Andrew. He’s a jerk. And Harry’s different. You have a kid.” But Harry never called about Salima, just to say hi to Blaise. Most of the time, he didn’t even ask about his daughter.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said gently, and then smiled at him. He sounded jealous. But in truth, Andrew was no threat to what she felt for Simon. And that was very new. She still needed to make shifts. And they weren’t in a relationship anyway. “And you talk to Megan. You said so.”