James

Cora called Sunday night to see how things had gone at my dad’s party. It was nice to hear her voice, even if the conversations were surface level and came at two in the morning—time zones were a killer, but I didn’t give a shit. I’d make it work to hear her sing in my ear every time she said “hello.” We never discussed anything of importance, yet somehow, the familiarity seemed to spark what both of us had missed in our relationship the last year before she’d left.

I’d set aside my hope for salvaging the us part of the equation—temporarily—in favor of rebuilding the friendship. Neither of us had said those three magic words, or even mentioned the possibility of getting back together. However, every time we hung up the phone, we told the other we missed them. It had taken the place of the intimacy while confirming the tie.