Implications

I imagine Jennie sitting across the fast food booth, pausing from picking at her fries while I mention the stresses of seeing multiple women. “Really should start keeping note cards,” I’d say, “Before I get their hobbies mixed up.”

I draw out the look on her face as she sees the latest picture I posted - with a woman whose shoulder melds into mine in front of a fake Christmas tree.

I see us sitting on the curb of her house, her asking about my work, what I’ve been up to, who I’ve been hanging out with. And I trace the trail of her questions past her lips, down her throat, back into her lungs, then collapse the walls by muttering a foreign name.

I fantasize because of the reality: I haven't heard from her in weeks.

So when she approaches with a text of “I hope you're doing fine,” I unwrap the gift to mean, Yes, I still matter. And only now am I prepared to reply with nothing.