Chapter 39 Cord
Cord
Cord had no plan.
He and Giovanni sat in a circle of fellow phone addicts, each with a leather-bound notebook open on their lap.
The facilitator of the “Make a Plan to Stay Screen-Free” workshop played binaural beats over the sound system—gongs and whatnot.
Cord’s ass ached on the thin yoga mat where he sat cross-legged.
Everyone else, including Gio, scribbled furiously. Cord stared into space, loathing the facilitator, the gongs, the other participants, and most of all, his fiancé.
He wanted to work. He wanted to scroll. He wanted a drink.
“Take a moment to breathe,” cooed Ashworth, the facilitator-slash-yoga-teacher. “And now…let’s begin with you, Cord. What’s your plan to stay screen-free?”
Cord didn’t answer right away. He flipped his notebook closed and opened it again. The page was still blank. He tried to make his hand move. It didn’t.
“I have no plan,” said Cord.
Giovanni exhaled dramatically.
“I’m sorry,” said Cord. “I don’t mean to be impolite. I just don’t want to be here. Honestly, I don’t have a problem with my phone. I’m just an adult with a job. I don’t have time to journal. And—to be frank—I don’t want to have time to journal.”
“This is what I’m saying,” said Giovanni, turning to the woman seated on his left. Winifred, long-haired and elegant in her fifties, shook her head knowingly. “He doesn’t even think it’s a problem,” confided Gio.
“Then tell me, Giovanni,” said Cord, “what is the problem, exactly?”
Giovanni turned toward him. “You’re just…gone. You’re numb. And when you’re forced to sit in your feelings, you’re a jerk.”
Winifred gave a little shrug. “Phil’s a jerk without his numbing agents, too.”
Balding Phil closed his eyes, a portrait of resigned despair.
Cord stared at Phil, thinking, Nope. Just no.
He stood abruptly. “I’m done,” said Cord. He picked up his notebook and flung it into the koi pond beside the Event Kottage. Then, with a sigh, he went back and fished it out. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Didn’t mean to hurt the fish.”
As he walked to the parking lot, he heard Giovanni’s voice behind him, low and tight with anger—but didn’t catch the words. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.
Cord climbed into the rental car they’d picked up in town, slammed the door, and turned the key.
It would take a few minutes to reach their Kottage, pack his bags, and depart.
Numb—the word hung in the air like smoke.
Cord sat in the driver’s seat for a moment longer, notebook dripping in his lap, wondering why he’d rather be numb than feel a thing.