The line fell silent, and I heard nothing but the low hum of static and his breathing. When he spoke again, it was deliberate, much quieter.
"So when are you going to New York?" His voice was small, defeated.
"Next week." It occurred to me now that I should have consulted him. At least let him know without him having to ask. My heart beat, heavy in my chest, and I rubbed my eyes.
"How are you getting there?"
"I'm taking a plane." A pause. "I found a ticket for $90." A lie, and I didn't know why I bothered with it. The ticket had been $130. But maybe if it were cheaper, maybe if it had been a really good deal, my rash decision and quick purchase would be justified. Forgiven.
"Oh." He didn't give a shit about the $90 ticket. Nothing was justified. Nothing was forgiven. "Well, I guess we'll talk tomorrow, then. You should sleep."
Silence, and then a click as he hung up. I sat, holding the small phone in my left hand, listening to the cicadas and feeling very small. It was so very easy to disappoint him, and so very difficult to pretend that it didn't affect me at all.