On that Sunday night, I used his phone to dial Jean's number, which I hadn't known I had memorised all along. My fingers just swiped around the screen, and when I wondered whether I actually had a number to call or none, the number staring at me was complete. It was the familiarization that assured me I was calling the correct number.
Two calls and no one was picking from the other line. It was ringing. But there was no sign of anyone answering it.
I looked up at the wall clock. It was still early, around quarter to seven. My contemplation took me this long. I knew they would insist on knowing where I was, if not to demand me back. I was not ready for that. And it took me hours to realize I was doing this to reassure them. To help lift up the worries I caused to them. To reassure them I
