Three days later I boarded a flight to San Diego to visit my longtime friend Denise Harper in La Jolla. I packed lightly because I needed distance more than luggage.
We walked barefoot along the shoreline with the Pacific stretching endlessly before us, and for the first time in months I felt air fill my lungs without tension. Denise did not press for details because she understood enough from the tone of my voice.
My phone began vibrating in my pocket, and when I checked the screen I saw Matthew’s name. I silenced the call and slipped the phone back without answering.
The vibration returned minutes later, then again, then again. By sunset I had 23 missed calls.
That night in Denise’s guest room the phone continued lighting up the darkness, and I turned it face down on the nightstand. By morning there were 61 missed calls and a string of text messages asking me to please pick up.
I did not respond because I needed him to feel the weight of absence the way I had felt it for years. By the end of the second day, the number had climbed to 147 missed calls.