Short Story: He Only Called On Weekdays
Short Story: He Only Calls On Weekdays
Hamunyari and I spoke on the phone between 9 am and 6 pm, Monday to Friday, and never on weekends. Our dates were often last-minute, and I jumped at every opportunity to spend quality time with him. Trust me, being single for three years was no fun.
One so-called relationship guru on YouTube broke it down in one of his Get-the-Guy lives: making demands too early in a relationship was a red flag. Let the man define the relationship so you know where you stand. Prime time was reserved for girlfriends and wives.
Technically, I was not yet Hamunyari’s girlfriend. According to the rules, we were still in the talking phase. I had nothing to worry about.
But try telling that to Ronica, my happily married friend of seven years.
‘Girl, we need to talk. Meet me in the coffee room STAT.’
Her message pinged through my phone seconds after I sent her an update about my love life.
‘Me and my big mouth.’ I sighed.
‘Give me two ticks to hand over my patient,’ I texted back.
After telling the shift leader I was taking an early break, I scampered towards the coffee room.
‘You mean to tell me this asshole has ignored you for seven whole days, and you’re still texting him? That’s just barmy!’ Ronica shrieked the moment I walked in, the door swinging shut behind me.
‘Shh! Keep your voice down,’ I said, scanning the room. Thank God, no one had claimed the comfy corner.
‘Well?’ Ronica folded her arms. ‘What have you got to say for yourself? After everything we talked about last week?’
‘OK, before you get your knickers in a twist, hear me out.’ I ambled towards the boiler. ‘The guy has a busy job, you know. He’s probably too busy.’
‘Or he’s ill, in hospital. Better yet, his grandma died, and he had to fly to Zim.’
‘Yeah, you see—’
Then the penny dropped.
‘I see what you’re doing,’ I said.
‘The man is a fucking asshole! And you know it.’
‘Shh! Keep your voice down. The walls aren’t that thick. Geez.’
This conversation was not going the way I had rehearsed it moments before handing over my patient to my accommodating colleague on Keller ward.
‘Easy for you to judge. You’re happily married. It’s a jungle out there. Things aren’t the way they used to be when you met your husband,’ I reasoned.
‘God, Nyaradzo. Enough. You do this every time.’
Ronica shook her head, fished two slices of bread from the bread bin and tossed them into the toaster.
‘Are you having any?’ she asked, giving me a sidelong glance.
‘No, I’m good.’
I took a tentative sip from the steaming mug in my hand. I needed the hot water to soothe the knot in my stomach. Besides, skipping the bread was good for me. All I had to do was look at carbs to put on weight.
I watched Ronica’s elegant, slim hand as she spread a thick layer of butter on the two slices that had popped out of the toaster. She had told me countless times how she wished she had more meat on her. What I wouldn’t give to have her figure.
‘You wanna sit down?’ She gestured towards the two chairs in the comfy corner, which had two chairs facing the back door, away from prying eyes, though not necessarily prying ears.
‘So, spill. What exactly happened between you two?’ Ronica asked as we settled into the chairs beside each other.
I took a deep breath. As much as I relied on Ronica for a reality check, her truth could be cutting. Since there were no prying ears in the coffee room, I had no choice but to tell her everything.
What was I thinking, texting a man who clearly did not care about me? Whatever happened to my sense of pride? And what about the promise I had made after my last heartbreak, never to ignore red flags again?
As Ronica tossed these missiles at me, my eyes kept sweeping the room to make sure we were still alone.
‘There has to be a good explanation. We were getting on fine. Maybe—’
‘Stop, Nyari. Just stop, OK? No one is that busy. Not even the President of the United States.’
I swallowed the lump in my throat and blinked away the tears gathering in my eyes.
‘That lying, no-good sonofabitch done made you lose your mind.’
I watched Ronica reach for the last chunk of her buttered toast. She dug her teeth into it, chewed noisily and took a swig from her cup.
‘I’m just saying,’ she continued, her mouth still full. ‘I mean, if you’re still kinda talking and getting to know each other, then talking is talking, innit? But from where I’m standing, you’re doing all the talking. He’s ignoring you, and you keep texting. God!’
That was another thing. Ronica had told me never to text a guy first, especially if he had not officially asked me to be his girlfriend.
But, to be honest, I was sick of the rules. I was a grown-ass woman who didn't need the so-called rules to find or keep a man.
And yet, I could not ignore the nagging voice reminding me of the awful truth: for the last two years, I had broken every vow I made never to ignore red flags. Unsurprisingly, Ronica, who had stood by me through many a heartbreak, no longer hesitated to meddle in my affairs and point out my flaws.
I was my own worst enemy.
The matron, dressed in her dark blue uniform with red stripes, entered the room, followed by a man who appeared to be a sales rep, judging by what he was carrying. That was our cue to leave.
As Ronica and I rinsed our cups in the sink, preparing to return to our respective work areas, my mobile phone vibrated inside my pocket.
I grabbed a paper towel to dry my dripping hands, reached into my pocket and pulled out the phone. The screen lit up.
Withheld.
‘Must be him,’ I said, unable to hide the anticipation in my heart.
Hamunyari had to be calling to explain his silence. But seeing my beaming face was the last straw for Ronica. She glared at me and stormed out of the room without uttering another word.
Well, she wasn't the one who had spent the last three years sleeping alone. This was my life.
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