That evening. She walks past the couch. He’s on the phone.
“What I-?” Silas says. Stuttering. He’s caught off guard.
The phone buzzes.
“It was two dates,” he says. Defensive. Cal sits down next to him. Watches.
The phone buzzes. “Where were you last night?” the girl on the phone says. Silence. Silence. “At least you could have told me that you didn’t love me!”
“I-” His voice is pitched. About to break. Cal holds his wrist, takes away the phone, hangs up for him. To stop him. His head fills his hands. Silence. “How do you even know if you love someone?” he asks. “Or if you don’t.”
“Don’t know,” Cal says.
“How can you tell someone then?”
“You can’t, I guess.”
Nihilistic Porcupine 