He left his number. Crazy long distance, but you do only live once. That's what my mother says when I mention it. Living still feels like a scary topic of conversation--what we want so badly.
I sit on the little stool in the kitchen alcove and dial the long string of numbers. (Dial--I remember when phones had them.) Will he sound fuzzy?
"Hola." He doesn't.
"Hola, Sevario. Soy Misha."
Now he speaks quickly, and I have to think quickly to keep up. He has a ticket. He's coming up. Don't leave for Norway yet.
I ask how he gets the time off. I wonder how he can afford it. I realize that I'm slightly obsessed (can you be slightly obsessed) with money, with not having money. In my usual life, it doesn't come up, because I don't need much. But here, and thinking about traveling, meeting Henry.
Henry. I'm spending dollars a minute on the phone and my mind is wandering between these two men.
And Sevario is actually coming. He says he travels so much for work that he doesn't take many vacations. And he's pairing it with a story on Microsoft, right near by.
I explain that it's actually hours away--a lot of hours. He brushes this off. He can meet my mother, my sister. He tells me his flight details. He's coming in a week.
We have spare bedrooms. He doesn't want to impose. He'll find a motel room. I tell him it might be rustic, or rundown, or just plain crappy. The Chamber of Commerce would not be loving me right now. He says not to worry.
I hang up and all the feelings zing through my body--wonder, worry, bliss.