Holding

I called her

like I always do when the account is low

and the refrigerator is holding its breath

with one carton of milk and nothing else.

She picked up fast, her voice already moving—

busy, she said,

can I call you back?

And I said yes

but what I meant was please don't,

because when she doesn't call back

at least I know where I stand.

The line cut off.

Not a click. Not a goodbye.

Just the tone,

that sound that isn't a sound,

the nothing-noise the phone makes

when there's no one on the other end anymore.

I held the receiver.

I held it like she might start talking again,

like if I stayed still enough

she'd remember she'd left me mid-sentence

and come back to finish the thought.

My ear was hot against the plastic.

The tone kept going.

Steady. Even. Honest.

This is what it sounds like

when someone doesn't have time for you.

This is what it sounds like

when you're not worth the callback.

I hung up first.

I wanted to be the one

to make the decision to leave.