The Trouble Is

Chapter 13: Landline

I'm doing dishes after breakfast when the phone rings. It takes me a few rings to realize that it's a real phone and it's ringing in our house, shattering the quiet that surrounded us.

"What's that?" Doug asks through a mouthful of strawberry Pop-Tart. Doug gets to choose his breakfast food with no pressure from our newly appointed organic policeman. He recently converted from Lucky Charms to the more reliable strawberry Pop-Tart after Skip told him that this was the most purchased food item before a storm. In case you want to know, it's followed closely by bottled water, cleaning supplies, flashlights, and first-aid kits. Skip knows the weirdest things.

I dig through the pile of mail on the desk in the hallway, looking for the phone. It's still ringing its harsh interruption on the morning. Mom usually handles all scams and telemarketers. I have no idea what to say to the local heritage association or the firemen's fund guys. However, we no longer have an answering machine, and I need the mind-numbing ringing to stop.

"Hello?" I say.

"Hello, ma'am," he says. His voice is quiet and polite. "This is Theodore Easton. May I speak to your daughter, please?"

Oh my. It's East. Calling me. East is calling me. And he's giving his official first name.

"Just one moment please," I say. I'm pretty sure he can hear the smile in my voice. I put the phone down on the counter for a five count and pull my excitement back in.

"Hello," I say again.

"A?" he asks.

"Yes," I can't help but laugh. "Why are you calling our house phone?"

"I asked Linda for your number, and this is what she gave me," he says. "I was grateful for what I could get. She's pretty tight with info, that one. She said I was on a need-to-know basis and that she would determine what I needed to know. This was all I could get from her. I think she requires some kind of test and a permit to give me your cell number."

Wow. Speeches, I think; he makes speeches. I think I may have to sit down with my head between my knees. And he asked Linda for my number.

"Oh," I say. Brilliant. I'm brilliant. He makes speeches, and I utter monosyllabic grunts. Nice, A. Nice.

We listen to each other breathe for a minute or two, then both speak at the same time.

"I was wondering," he says.

"So, what's up?" I ask.

"OK, OK," I say, jumping into the gap. "You go first."

"I was wondering if you would like to hang out sometime," he says.

I'm not sure what he means by "hang out." Is that like hanging out in the friend zone? Or is it hanging out like "maybe I like you"? Or is it hanging out like "I'm babysitting my little sister, so can you help?"

So what do I say that won't sound totally stupid? Where is K when I need her? I stand there holding that stupid landline phone up to my ear while mentally going through my options. I tug on the twisted cord. The back door slams as Doug heads outside, having shown no further interest in analog technology. The kitchen is silent, and I'm a statue frozen by insecurity and confusion. I don't know what to say.

"A?" he asks softly.

"A, are you still there?" His voice is still quiet and kind of gravelly, as though he's having trouble getting the words out.

"I'm here," I whisper. The house is silent, and the world seems to have shrunk down to this phone line. It's just East and me and one connection. I imagine this line running across town, underneath all the buildings and houses, linking us in this one moment.