Loop Girl

“Evey, you coming?”

I stare blankly out of my apartment window as the phone buzzes on the table.

Red car. White car. A leaf drops from the tree across the street as a crow settles on one of its branches.

“‘Course I am,” I say, twisting the ring on my finger. Blair’s name glares at me from the phone screen, and I can almost see the disapproving squint of his gray eyes, the little huff he does when a strand of hair falls in his face.

“You didn’t answer earlier, so I thought you might be at work still, but our reservation is set–”

“For seven,” I finish, at the same time he does.

“–for seven. I can try to push it back if you don’t think you’ll make it.”

I tap my hand on the table’s edge. “No need.”

“It’s just that, last time, you know, for my graduation…I don’t blame you for that, but I just need to know if I should move the time, or change the restaurant even. I don’t want them to close on us again.”

Outside, the light drumming of rain begins to patter the window. The crow in the tree flees for cover. Blue car. White car again.

“I’m on my way,” I lie. “Just finishing up a couple of things.”

Blair’s shaky sigh echoes through the speakers. “I swear, Evey, that place doesn’t deserve you, and they’re so lucky for that. I know I’m lucky to have you. I just wish I saw you a little more.”

I settle into the window seat, bringing the phone with me and clutching it tight as I bend my knees to my chest. “Aren’t we talking now?”

“ I come home, and it’s dark, and your shoes aren’t by the door–which is fine, by the way. You’re chasing your dreams. But I still miss you. And it’s your birthday, today, so can’t you leave a little early?”

Six forty-two on the clock. The rain picks up. I tug on a lock of my hair.

“Or, if you really can’t, maybe I just call the restaurant and tell them we’re not coming. I can be home by eight with takeout. There’s a movie I’ve been wanting to watch, but if you think you can make it by then, I’ll wait for you.”

“What movie is that?”

“You know that old zombie flick from way back, gosh, I guess like twenty years ago? Dunno, but–”

“Brain Dead, yeah. Your favorite from when you were a kid.”

“–they remade it now. Fixed the CGI and everything, though I didn’t notice how bad it was in the original until I watched it again last night. Oh, Evey, you should’ve seen. You would have laughed so hard at the sound effects. Maybe we’ll watch that one again first, if you have time.”

“I’ll make time,” I whisper. I don’t tell him I’ve watched it a dozen times already.

“Oh, and my sister’s coming to town this weekend. You work Saturday, but on Sunday, I wanted to invite her over to dinner, to see our place, maybe to get you two to know each other a little better. It wouldn’t be a long thing, but considering we’re married and you’ve only ever talked to her like, three times, I thought it would be good.”

Gray car. Brown car. In the neighbor’s yard, a gust of wind knocks over the toy car their toddlers play in on nicer days.

“Tell her to stay the night. I’ll clean up the guest bedroom.”

“She’s been dying to see you again, after how fun the wedding was, and honestly, it might be good for you to see someone who’s not your coworkers or me. You’ll get stuck in a loop, Eves, and you’re not a loop girl. ‘Always moving up’, right?”

“Right,” I echo.

“You know what? I am going to cancel that reservation, so don’t rush yourself. Don’t know why I made it, since I like it better with just us. I’ll grab something from that taco place around the corner. No beans, right?”

“I just can’t stand the–”

“The texture grosses you out. I mean, I think they’re delicious, but who am I to judge? Maybe I’ll ask the place if they can put your beans on mine. Maybe not. We’re sharing a bed, so I won’t do that to you,” he laughs.

I feel my chest tighten.

Six forty-five.

“You said eight o’clock?” I say, holding the phone close to my mouth. The B of Blair on the screen blurs.

“Eight, then. Or eight fifteen. Not so tight of a deadline anymore, but don’t let the food get cold! And I am starting the movie before eight thirty. It’s a long one, and I told my mom I’d help her move tomorrow. Why’d I say seven AM? I should’ve left time for coffee, first.”

A mail truck pulls up outside. The white-uniformed man gets out, circling the back of his car.

“I’ll make you some to go.”

“Coffee is like, half my blood at this point. You think I’ll go through withdrawals if I stop? Oh, man, a coffee sounds great right now. Is it too late?”

“Just get one anyway,” I laugh, pulling my knees closer. Everything’s blurry now.

“Maybe just this once. Anyway, call me back when you get the chance. Love you always,” he says, and the phone clicks to silence before I can say it back.

The doorbell rings. I don’t move at all.

“Ma’am?” the mailman calls. “I need a signature for this one.”

Stumbling over, I pull my robe tighter. The locks slide off, and I creak the door open.

The pudgy man smiles, uniform still dewy from the rain he ran through to get here. His smile fades as he sees my face. “Sorry to, uh, interrupt.” He hands me the weight of the entire world. “Just need you to sign that you got it…right here…alright, have a– goodbye.” He hurries away.

I don’t open the package. I leave it on the counter, returning to my window seat and picking up the phone. I press the little blue arrow, and the message starts again.

“Evey, you coming?”