Stretching, Em accidentally kicked the cat, albeit lightly. He reacted by swiping her foot helping her finish waking up from a deep 2 a.m. slumber. The phone was ringing: its caller i.d. panel casting a green glow on the wall above where it rested on her nightstand. A small red light blinked – she’d slept through an earlier missed call.

She stared out her window: the bridge’s blue lights glistening in the distance, a cool June breeze blowing into her open windows. She knew she shouldn’t answer.

The phone stopped ringing long enough for him to leave a message. She knew what it would say without listening. He missed her. He was sorry. What was he thinking? Could he come over? She’d hated giving in, unlocking her door (she’d taken back her keys long before), making room in her bed.

She didn’t want this. Didn’t want to be the last stop in his night; the shortest stop before he left early in the morning to drive to who knows where to see who knows whom. She’d played that game.

The phone started ringing again.