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“I just realized that I’m not gonna see you when I get home, so I wanted to call, and…I don’t know…see how your day was.”
“Well, it was shitty,” I snapped.
“Yeah…” Ken said. “Mine, too.”
“Uh, listen, I gotta go. I have school in the morning,” I blurted, desperate to put our strange, forced conversation out of its misery.
“When’s your review?”
“Huh?”
“For your case study.”
“Oh. I’m meeting with my professor on Friday.”
“Well…let me know if you need help preparing for it.”
I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to shout, This is not how breakups work, asshole! into the phone and throw it across the room.
But my stupid fucking hope told me not to. It whispered that maybe he was just stalling. That maybe he was calling because he’d had a change of heart. Maybe, just maybe, Ken was about to tell me that he loved me after all.
“Night, Brooke,” Ken sighed into the phone.
“Fuck this,” I replied and hung up on him again.
