The Last Notification

Elena sat in her car outside the office building at 7:43 PM, her thumb hovering over her iPhone screen. Another notification from Greg—her ex-husband—requesting yet another extension on his alimony payment. She deleted it without reading, just like she'd deleted his presence from her life three years ago.

Her phone buzzed again. Sarah.

"You coming? Everyone's at O'Malley's. Mark's leaving tomorrow for Seattle."

Elena stared at the message. Sarah had been her work friend for six years—the kind of friend who brought you coffee when your divorce finalized, who covered for you when you cried in the bathroom during quarterly reviews. But lately, Elena felt like she was moving through life underwater, watching everything from a distance. Zombie-like. Going through motions without feeling them.

"Can't," she typed. "Working late."

Her phone rang. Sarah.

"Bullshit. I can see your car from the window."

Elena looked up. Sarah stood at the entrance, holding two paper cups, her silhouette cutting through the fluorescent glow of the lobby. She wasn't leaving.

"Five minutes," Elena said to no one, and pressed the lock button on her iPhone.

The October air hit her as she stepped outside. "I'm not good company tonight."

"You never are lately." Sarah handed her a cup. "It's bourbon."

"At 7:45 PM on a Tuesday?"

"It's always bourbon o'clock somewhere." Sarah leaned against the brick wall. "Mark's not actually going to Seattle, you know."

Elena paused. "What?"

"He made that up to get you to come. Said you'd only show up for goodbyes, not celebrations." Sarah's voice softened. "We're worried about you, El. You haven't been yourself since—the thing with Greg."

"I'm fine."

"You're not. You're a zombie. The walking dead of corporate America." Sarah's phone chimed—her husband, probably. She ignored it. "But today, right now? You could choose differently."

The bourbon burned going down. Elena's phone lit up again in her hand—another notification from Greg. For the first time in months, she didn't delete it. She didn't open it either. She just turned the phone face down on the hood of her car.

"Five minutes," she said again, but this time she stepped toward the warmth of the entrance. "Then we're getting Mark drunk before his fake Seattle trip."

Sarah's smile was the first genuine thing Elena had seen in months. "Deal."

The notification could wait. The zombie could wait. Right now, she just wanted to be a friend.