Natasha (5)

“I miss talking to you. Do you want to go out some time this week?” I asked. She left it up to me a while back. She said, “When you’re ready to hang out let me know.”

We went for “fancy pizza.” Thin crust.

The Tinder thing got brought up. She said, “I was surprised. A little bit hurt. Not that it’s my business… Or maybe it is my business.”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I was on it. I was curious. Nothing came of it though.” I lied through my teeth. “How did you know?” I asked.

“Someone told me you were on it.”

“Someone told you, or did you read it on my blog?”

“Someone told me.”


“I’d rather not say.”

“Why not?”

“I just don’t want to.”

“Well who would tell you that? Why? I mean, why would a friend of yours tell you something like that? I just… I don’t get the reasoning.”

We dropped it pretty fast. We went on to talk about TV shows and people at work. We discussed the quality of the pizza and whether or not the price was justified. We talked just like we used to do.

“I don’t know why I’m crying.” She said at one point, at the table.

“It’s okay. It’s good.”

“I don’t think so,” she said.

When I dropped her off at her place we hugged in the car. “I miss you.” I told her. “It’s just not quite the same, is it?”She looked a bit confused. “At work, I mean. Seeing each other there. It’s not the same as hanging out.”

She looked like she was going to cry again. “Yeah.”

She left the car.

It’s hard to know what you’re supposed to do. I never know if anything is the right thing.


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