The Weight of Static

The lightning struck just as Elena's palm hovered over the accept button. Outside, the Florida storm battered the windows, but inside her apartment, everything had gone terribly still.

"Don't," Marcus said from the doorway. His voice was quiet, almost swallowed by the thunder that followed.

Elena's iphone screen illuminated her face—Sarah's name, the friend who'd moved to Seattle three months ago, the friend who'd stopped calling, who'd sent a single text last night: *We need to talk.* Now, in the middle of a hurricane, Sarah was calling.

"She's your friend too," Elena said, though she wasn't sure that was true anymore. Not since the promotion. Not since the night Sarah'd stood by Marcus's desk, laughing too loudly at his jokes, while Elena'd watched from across the open-plan office, her stomach twisted around itself like a wet towel.

Marcus moved closer. His bare feet made no sound on the hardwood. "Let it go to voicemail."

"I can't keep doing this." Elena's thumb hovered. Another flash of lightning turned the room white, stark as an X-ray. "I can't keep wondering if you're with her every time you work late."

"I'm not."

"You were Tuesday."

Marcus's jaw tightened. "We were finalizing the Q3 projections. You saw the calendar invite."

"I saw you leave together at ten. I saw her hand on your—"

"Jesus, Elena." He raked his fingers through his hair. "You're exhausting yourself with this. With us."

Somewhere in the apartment, a cat yowled—a strangled, desperate sound. Barnaby, her elderly rescue, hated storms. Elena should go to him, should wrap him in the blanket he liked, but her feet were rooted to the floorboards.

"Am I wrong?" she asked. "Or am I the only one paying attention?"

Marcus didn't answer. The distance between them had never felt so vast, so measured in unsaid things. Then her palm wasn't hovering anymore—it was moving, pressing, and the call connected.

"Elena?" Sarah's voice was thin, distant. "I saw you were calling. I—"

"You called me."

"Right. Sorry. I wanted to say—I wanted to tell you before you heard from anyone else. Marcus and I, we—"

The line went dead. The storm outside had taken the cell tower. Or maybe Sarah had lost her nerve. Or maybe, Elena thought, as the room plunged back into darkness, Marcus was already reaching for his keys, already planning what he'd say on the drive to the airport, already gone.