G called me tonight.

I don't know why I picked up the phone. Nostalgia, I suppose.

He asked me what kind of underwear I was wearing, and tried to get me to flirt with the other passengers on the train.

If it were anybody but him, I might have.

He asked me to describe him in as many words as I needed:

Frustrating.

Charming.

Cute butt.

Inability to form lasting relationships.

Professionally focused, personally unfocussed.

Irritating.

Selfish.

"Why do you think I called you?" he asked, like he was a teacher, leading.

"I don't know," I said, suddenly tired. "Why did you call me?"

"No, no," he said. "Come on."

I was tempted to add: "Inability to identify and talk about feelings" to the list.

"I don't know," I said. "Because you're selfish?"

"I suppose that's true," he agreed. "I don't really think about what it feels like for you when I call. I just call because I want to."

"That's kind of the definition of selfish," I pointed out.

"...so," he said, "should I stop calling?"

I sighed.

"That's a loaded question," I said, but I never gave him a straight answer.

.

Rosie.

Before&After