hang-ups

“What’re you doing Saturday night?” She called as I was finishing the second load of laundry.

I clasped the phone between my shoulder and right ear, folding my daughter’s freshly washed and dried T-shirt, and murmured. “…Let me check my schedule…”

“We’re going out. Girls’ night out!” She giggled.

“…I’m free on Saturday…” I kept my hands busy, neatly creasing the sleeves and folding the shirt in half.

“We’re going to see a comedy show… You can use some laughs, too.” She almost cackled.

The phone slid, and I grabbed it with one hand.

“We’re having sushi dinner before the show.” Her cheerful voice vibrated.

I tilted my head as if I was contemplating and recited into the electronic device. “…I’d love to go and see you all, but…I don’t know I can…” A man’s shirt hanging outside caught my eye.

“Of course, you can. Tell your husband you’re going out and he needs to watch the kids, or find a sitter.”

“It’s not that easy, you know…to find someone…”

“Your husband’s off Saturday, right?” Her voice was nonchalant.

My hand gripped the phone tight.

“…Well, I’m about to get tickets for us. You coming?” She waited impatiently on the other side of the line.

“…I…I don’t think so…I just don’t have enough time to organize everything before Saturday…”

A stifled sigh at the other end was audible. “…Alright… In case you change your mind, we’ll be at the Ichiban Sushi at six…”

“…Thank you…”

“Well, then…”

“Hope you girls will have fun.” I patted the tiny T-shirt and packed inside the suitcase.

“We will. Take care…“ She waited for a moment then hung up.

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