Short Story: Textual Awareness

Her fingers tapped away at the keyboard on her screen, a combination of concentration and amusement on her face. There was so much to do and so little time. The party was meant to be starting soon, and the invite had mentioned costumes, so that was another layer of concern. Concern, that was a good name, better than worry.

At least they had the car. They were meant to be gathering in a pub, so at least if it was a washout they could get some drinks and slip away. She wasn’t going to drink anyway, so at least her husband, friend to the birthday boy, could let his hair down for the evening if he wanted.

She looked around the hotel room and checked her reflection before heading down to the bar. Her husband was still bringing his case up from the car so he’d need some time to change. He’d decided to go as that character from Hitchhiker’s Guide, Arthur somebody, so a dressing gown and towel featured heavily in his near future – but she hoped there would be more than that. If nothing else it was cold out there, it was the end of February after all.

Her phone buzzed while she stood in the elevator, one of several conversations under way at the moment. There was one with hubby, another with the birthday boy’s wife, a work discussion, and of course her mother.

“We’ll be there in about an hour I think.” She wrote to their hostess. “Gav’s got to change, he got held up at work, but we’re both at the hotel now.” There was a quick response of a smiling emoji.

“I’ve headed to the bar. I’ve picked up something to wear under your costume and put it on the bed for you.” She sent to Gavin. She got a question mark response. She frowned and made her way to the bar.

“Go look on the bed. I’ve picked out something to wear tonight so you don’t freeze. You can’t come down to the pub just wearing a dressing gown.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely, I’m in the bar, go put it on, get ready and meet me down here so we can head out for the night.” She put the phone down on the bar while she ordered an orange and soda, and saw the phone vibrate again.

“I’ve just got in, these things on the bed for me? Great, see you soon.” She read. A quick smile spread across her face, and then she frowned. The chat icon was different.

Her phone buzzed again, her work colleague Delia this time, with the icon of the person she’d just been texting. “Uh, I know we joke about me being your work wife, but I didn’t think we were moving to this level? Hope you haven’t broken into my house to leave nightwear out for me?”

Oh boy, this was going to make for an awkward first coffee in Monday…

About Tim Maidment

Writer, House Husband, Raconteur and Bon Vivant
This entry was posted in Fiction, short story, writing and tagged , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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