Sixteen Calls

She called on a Tuesday and we talked until the sun came up.

Not about anything in particular. That was the thing about her. The conversation never needed a reason to keep going.

There are sixteen women in my life I talked to on the phone long enough to remember it.

Combined, all sixteen of them together, still didn't add up to the hours I spent on the phone with her in the first month.

She laughed at the right places. Went quiet at the right places too. Asked the kind of questions that told you she was actually listening for the answer, not just waiting for her turn.

The symmetry was the first thing anyone noticed. Not just her face. The way she moved through a room matched the way she moved through a conversation — nothing wasted, nothing performed.

I told my brother I thought I found the one before we'd even met in person twice.

He said that was good. Asked when he'd get to meet her.

I hadn't asked her anything yet. Not what she liked. Not where she grew up. The other kind of question.