26. A Polite Warning
T he long holiday weekend drags like an empty threat.
I spend most of it alone, pretending to need the rest. Invitations to picnics and fireworks go unanswered, replaced by the background noise of the TV on low volume.
I tell myself I’m recharging—but really, I’m waiting for a call that never comes.
Kevin is probably with Josh at Piedmont Park or grilling hamburgers with their friends, waving sparklers and smiling like nothing’s amiss.
It’s not jealousy. It’s the ache of being dismissed before I even got the chance to matter.
By Sunday, I’m beyond hurt, debating whether to wait him out or force his hand, rehearsing what I might say, running through conversations we haven’t had yet.
The silence is saying enough—but if he won’t answer it, maybe I will.
I don’t want to ruin anything, but I also don’t want to be forgotten—if I have to cause a little discomfort for him, so be it.
By Monday, I’m glad to be out of my apartment and back to work. It means being around people again, although I’ve avoided them all weekend. I couldn’t face the festivities, the celebrations, the happiness of people enjoying their time together, while I had no one.
Morning haze hangs low over the cracked pavement behind the shop. I’m half-listening to the local FM station crackling from the radio inside while I reload the pickup with clean skimmers and fresh chlorine tablets. It’s easier to focus on what I’ll do next if I’m already doing something now.
The truck is loaded when the metal door between the office and the warehouse creaks open. It’s Janice, holding a cordless phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other.
“Daniel,” she calls, squinting. “Phone’s for you. He asked for you by name. Sounds like that guy again.”
Wiping my palms on my shorts, I take the phone, my pulse kicking faster.
It’s got to be Kevin. Maybe he changed his mind.
Perhaps the silence over the weekend meant something to him, too.
He’s probably calling to grab lunch again or meet up to swim.
If he’s reaching out, then maybe there’s no need to be so hard on him.
All that rehearsing—what to say, how to keep my distance—suddenly feels like weekend noise, just a shield I might not need.
Lifting the phone to my ear, I feel my heart in freefall. “This is Daniel.”
“Daniel. Hey, it’s Josh. Josh Bennett.”
I freeze, caught between the sound of his voice and the sudden drop in my chest. It’s not Kevin. It’s never Kevin when I want it to be. For a second, all the rehearsed charm, the effortless cool I’ve been building like armor, vanishes.
“I don’t mean to interrupt your day,” he says. “I was just calling to hear the voice that’s been echoing through my house lately.”
A few seconds pass without saying anything. Josh’s statement stuns me, and I can hear my heart pounding in my ears.
“Josh. Uh—everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine,” he says calmly. “Thought I’d say hi, that’s all.”
“Okay. ”
There’s another pause. I listen for sounds in the background but hear none. Josh must be at work by now—or maybe he’s at home. I wonder if Kevin is there with him.
“Just one question,” he says. “You and Kevin—when did you reconnect? How long has this been going on?”
Josh’s tone is calm. Mine is coming undone. My heart pounds, tight and fast, as if it wants to burst out. “A few weeks ago. Maybe a month. When we ran into one another, that is. But there’s nothing—”
“Just curious,” he interrupts. “I like to know what kind of energy is entering my life.”
A new silence hangs between us. It’s uncomfortable and unnerving, at least for me, and I try to assess my options as quickly as my mind can control my emotions. I’ve rehearsed the call all weekend, but that was for Kevin, not for Josh.
I try a small, deflecting laugh. “Is that what this is?”
“I don’t think it’s a mystery anymore, Daniel. I just wanted you to know. I see you.”
I don’t have time to respond before the full weight of it hits me.
Josh is not calling to question anything.
He’s calling to end the illusion that this is a secret—that Kevin is just confused—that I’m operating in the shadows.
He’s telling me the lights are on, and I’ve been center stage the whole time.
And just like that, I feel bare, not guilty necessarily, and not exposed in the way Kevin makes me think I should be. This is different. Strategic. Like being marked.
Josh’s voice softens, but it doesn’t let go. “Have a good day, Daniel.”
Then, the line clicks .
I stand with the phone to my ear for a few seconds. Janice is already back inside. The radio hums some second-rate power ballad from last year. I place the handset on the shop bench gently, as if I were holding something fragile that I don’t know how to handle.
The rest of the day moves around me, but I’m somewhere else. Every word from that call plays back in my head, one line at a time. I don’t call Kevin. I don’t say a word to anyone.
Because now I know. Josh isn’t wondering anymore. He’s watching, and the dynamics of the game have just changed.