Texts From Him || Timothée Chalamet

15

—
On her way home Winnie had plenty of time to replay the interaction between her and Jayson in her mind.

It was silly of her to nod. Now he was going to bring it up again and Winnie really didn't want that.

Frustrated with herself, she tried to think of something else. She sat back in her seat as the subway powered through the tunnels. At least she was lucky enough to get a seat today. She could message T.

Winnie drew her phone from her handbag.

Hold onto that strength.
—

Winnie:
Thank you

—
He doesn't respond right away, so Winnie lowers her phone.

She zones out, thinking about him. She had overlooked the fact of how he'd obtained her number. Although odd, it wasn't important. She had many other things to worry about, and her number on a park bench wasn't one. And it was nice to have a friend. Especially one that she didn't have to go out of her way to see or talk to. It felt simple with T. There was no pressure or obligation.

Winnie felt a buzz in her pocket as she walked home from the station. She opens her phone as she enters the house.

Her breath hitches.
—

T:
Call me.

Winnie:
Call you?

T:
Call me :)

Winnie:
Now?

T:
Yeah.

Winnie:
No.

T:
No?

Winnie:
I mean not now. Later?

T:
Sure ;)
I'll be here, Winnie.

—
Her heart was beating erratically. Of course she wanted to call him, to hear the voice she had been texting with.

But later. Later would be good.

She needed to see her mother first and cook something for dinner. Then afterward, when she could relax, she would call him.

Winnie's heart raced the more she thought about it.

What would the call be like?
What would he be like?

She took a deep breath and dropped her handbag on the couch before heading to her mothers room.

"What's the smile for?" Her mother asked.

"You," she told her.

But Winnie's mother possessed a certain fluency in her daughter's behviour. She narrowed her eyes mischeviously. "Tell me."

Winnie sighed her mind scrambling to assemble a plausible-sounding truth. "There's–"

"You've met someone, haven't you?" her mother crosses her arms over her chess, her eyes lit up.

Winnie can't help but smile. Not because her mom was right, but because it was rare to see her in an elated state. It brought Winnie back to the time before—to the active woman her mom once was, full of life, her own character.

A tear slipped down Winnie's cheek.

"Oh, Winnie. Don't be sad. Come here," her mom patted the spot next to her from where she sat up in bed. "It'll be alright."
—