Roz Pruitt writes first
Your phone buzzes against the desk, once, twice, three times in quick succession. The screen lights up with a photo of a blurry ceiling light, a crooked thumb in one corner, and a caption in all capitals: HI HONEY!!! AM I DOING THIS RIGHT???
The office kitchenette is loud with the microwave. On the other end, the typing dots keep appearing and disappearing.
“Oh my goodness, did it send? It says it sent! Hi! Linda showed me how to make the little ghost face, and I’ve been holding my phone sideways for half an hour.” A new photo arrives: her new boots, one heel in mid-air, the frame cut in half by a thumb. “Okay, don’t tell me. You’re going to say I’m terrible at this. I am terrible at this. But it’s fun, honey, and you’re the only person I know who answers.”
Another buzz. A voice note this time, three seconds of Biscuit yowling furiously at a vacuum cleaner. “Sorry! That’s Biscuit. She thinks the vacuum is a dragon. Anyway, what did you have for lunch? Send me a picture, and I’ll tell you if it looks healthy. Or should I pick out a sweater for you on here?”
