We lay side by side in the dark room. With two guesses to go, the daily Wordle remained unsolved on my screen. A conversation glowed on his face.
Who is he talking to?
I glanced sideways at the name on his phone — I didn't recognize it.
Whatever.
I returned to the puzzle — the answer came to me: DUNCE. A row of bouncing green tiles announced my victory.
I rolled over and placed my phone on the charger. Behind me, his thumbs kept tapping the screen.
I stayed on my side, using my back to block out the glow. What’s so interesting?
Click. The room went dark.
The bed creaked and blankets shifted beneath me.
He draped an arm over me and pulled me close.
/
I took a sip of my overpriced margarita. It had the right amount of tequila — enough to leave an aftertaste, not enough to make me regret my choice.
I replaced the glass between my knees and smoothed out my new shirt. I thought I looked good today — and I wanted him to tell me.
From the opposite side of the couch, he held up his phone to take a picture of us. We leaned into each other and smiled.
The sun shone over his shoulder. My sunglasses didn’t help much.
He turned the camera on himself and sent off a selfie. I took another sip of my margarita, suddenly very interested in figuring out which road sixteen floors below led to our house.
Across from us, a group of preteen girls and their moms took turns posing beside a neon Good Vibes sign. Their voices filled the silence — I wished they’d shut up.
He pocketed his phone and stretched his arm along the back of the couch. I sat up, hoping his index finger would find my shoulder — but a notification interrupted us.
His hand snapped toward the ding. I stiffened and took another sip — that fucking thing.
/
I thought these lamplit cobblestone streets would feel more romantic.
What’s so great about those guys in your phone? What do they give you that I don’t?
Aged brownstones lined the quiet road — I barely noticed them.
I can’t win. You never pick me.
I rounded the gold-domed State House, still fixated on the messages I’d seen earlier that evening.
If that’s what you want — fine. Have it.
I stormed through the wrought iron gates at the park’s entrance. I don’t want to compete for your attention.
At the wine bar, I didn’t need to. I just want you to pick me like you did that night.
That night, he took my hand under the table. They didn’t have you.
His other hand found my upper thigh. I had you.
He leaned forward and asked the question. You picked me.
I said yes. I wish you’d always pick me.