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"It's been two days, Mum," Steven mumbled into the phone. "I don't know if she's coming back. I mean, she's got a life, yeah? Maybe she's been busy. Maybe Thursdays are her only days off and I have to wait a week. I dunno, Mum, maybe I should have been bolder and asked her for her number right there."
Steven sighed, squeezed his eyes shut. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he fought against the despair pulling on what little hope he had left. You had every reason to have forgotten him, he reasoned. He was just a gift shop-ist, a nobody who nerded out over Egyptian mythology and couldn't even get his dream job.
"I dunno," he repeated. "Sorry for all the voicemails. I dunno who else to talk to."
"Me," Marc muttered.
"Laters, gators."
Ending the call, Steven slumped down in his seat and stared up at the ceiling, exhaustion and disappointment weighing on his bones. In his peripherals, Marc stood with his arms crossed, an "I told you so" expression on his face.
"I hate you," Steven grumbled.
"You don't have a single hateful bone in your body, and you know it," Marc countered.
"If she was just 'casing' the place, as you so artfully put it, wouldn't she have stolen something already?"
"Thieves can be patient."
"You did this to me."
"What? I did what to you?"
"You took all your negative energy and put it out there, and now she's not coming back."
Marc threw his hands up. "You're ridiculous."
Steven squeezed his eyes shut. "Please stop talking, yeah? I'm tired of hearing you."
