“Happy birthday boo. I can’t make the party tonight but I want to take you out for birthday drinks.”
Even better, she thought. Instead of having to fight for her attention amidst a crowd, they could focus on each other. Really flesh this thing out.
The following night: her exhaustion mixed with his late schedule put an end to the drinks date. She thought he might be upset. He wrote terse answers to her well-meant questions. “Are you free tomorrow?” she asked.
“Ish,” he answered.
“You want to just let me know?”
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
The subtleties of language are completely lost in text messages. She felt a tiny stab in her gut.
The following night: she checked her phone at 9:30 to no avail. I blew it, she thought. Around 11 her phone beeped.
“Tonight’s not looking good. I’m the worst. This weekend?”
“This weekend sounds great. Saturday or Sunday. Your call.”
“Saturday night. Beer garden. You and me.”
She felt a tiny stab in her gut for entirely different reasons.