13. Invitation to Swim
T he air tastes like dust and copper as I climb back into the company pickup, sweat and grime soaked into the collar of my shirt.
It’s almost five. The sun’s still high, baking the asphalt in the service lot behind the office, where the smell of hot rubber and motor oil clings to everything.
The engine cuts off, and the door slams harder than intended.
Inside, the front desk is quiet, and I notice tomorrow’s route sheets jammed into everyone’s trays. I nod at Janice, the receptionist, who waves me over with one hand while the other holds the phone against her shoulder.
“Guy called for you earlier,” she says, handing me a slip of paper.
A glance down: a name, a number, and a pang in my chest. I recognize the number as Kevin’s office.
“Said he might be calling back later,” she adds, tucking a pencil behind her ear. “He sounded cute.”
“Thanks,” I reply, folding the paper into my back pocket like it might fly away if I’m not careful.
Back in my apartment, the window unit hums in the background, pushing cool air into the room. I kick off my boots and step into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. My reflection in the mirror looks flushed and unsteady .
Drying off with the edge of a clean towel, I knock gently on the wall between our apartments; two quick taps, a pause, then two more taps.
A beat later, she cracks the door, her phone in hand. “You wanna borrow it? Five bucks,” she jokes.
“How about five minutes,” I say. “Promise.”
“Who you gonna call?”
I pause. “My Granny,” I say. “It’s her birthday.”
“Ahh-ha. How old is Granny?”
“Very old,” I reply.
She squints as if she doesn’t believe me, but hands the phone over anyway.
The wire connecting the phone to the wall plate is extra long.
She likes to use the phone in any number of locations throughout the apartment when talking to clients: in the living room, the kitchen, the bedroom, and even while soaking in the tub or sitting on the toilet—it depends on her mood and how much of her attention the client requires at that particular time.
“No long distance,” she says, rolling her eyes and muttering something about me being shady before closing her door.
The long, cream-colored cord snakes behind me, trailing beneath her door and under mine atop the hardwood floors.
The cord trails into my apartment as I shut the door quietly behind me.
The receiver smells faintly of Naomi’s coconut lotion as I sit cross-legged on the floor, back against the bed. Each digit dials slowly, like spelling out a confession.
It rings twice. “This is Kevin. May I help you?”
“Hey,” I say, heartbeat in my throat. “It’s me. Daniel. ”
“Hi there.” He sounds relaxed, as if he has just leaned back in his chair, ready to end a long day at the office.
There’s a faint sound of paper shuffling behind him.
“Thanks for calling back. Sorry, I had to leave a message at your work. I wasn’t sure if you’d given me your home number or if I had misplaced it. ”
“No, work is fine. I just don’t usually give out this one.” I didn’t want to tell Kevin that I still didn’t have a home phone after a year of living here. Not yet, at least. I also didn’t want him calling Naomi.
He pauses. “Well, I’m glad you called back.”
I glance at the phone cord stretching under the door and lower my voice.
“I don’t have long,” I say. “But I’ve been thinking about the other day.”
“Me too,” his voice softens. “I was wondering if you wanted to meet again. Maybe do something less random.”
My mouth goes dry. A nod—then a reminder that Kevin can’t see it. “Yeah. Sure.” I try to keep the excitement out of my voice. “That sounds good.”
“You free Friday afternoon?” he asks. “Emory has a pretty nice Aquatic Center on campus with an awesome pool. It’s pretty quiet on Fridays, especially later in the afternoon.”
“I could be free.”
“Maybe three?” he suggests.
“Three works.” My mind speeds ahead of my words, thinking about my regular Friday route.
I’m usually at the Phillips’ around two, so I’ll have to be quick with the morning regulars.
I consider simply asking for Friday afternoon off, but then dismiss the thought.
We’re in the height of the summer season, and I know how busy we are.
I know what the answer to requesting time off would be.
No, it’s better not to ask. Hopefully, nothing new drops in my Friday box.
A moment of quiet spins out between us, not uncomfortable, just full.
“All right,” Kevin says finally. “I’ll see you then, Daniel.”
“See you there,” I echo.
We both hang up slowly, like we’re not ready to. A few more seconds pass sitting on the floor, listening to the low hum of the AC and the slight creak of Naomi’s floorboards next door. The scent of coconut lotion still clings to the receiver.
I feel a couple of tugs on the phone cord from the other end. I doubt Naomi urgently needs her phone back. It’s been barely over five minutes, and she’s already messing with me.
I haven’t told her. I need to.
If Kevin calls this number back and I’m not there—
No. I didn’t give Kevin the number. I said I don’t usually give it out. That’s true. True enough.
The cord gives another tug from Naomi’s end.
I unplug the cord from the phone’s base. The next time Naomi tugs at it, I chuckle in amusement—the sight of the cord whipping back beneath her door with no tension, no phone attached to it.
As quietly as possible, I place her uncorded telephone in the hallway in front of 3C.
I’ll tell her soon. I will.