The (In)convenience of Call Waiting

“Any calls?” he asks, closing the front door.

Damn! I think, wishing there was no such thing as call waiting.

“Yes,” I answer, warily.

“Well?” he says

“What do you mean?” I say, squaring my shoulders.

“What do you mean, what do I mean?” he says, his left eyebrow twitching, never a good sign.

“You want to know if there were any phone calls,” I paraphrase, “You mean the landline, I’m guessing, not your cellphone.”

“I wouldn’t be asking about the cellphone,” he says levelly, “I have that one with me, I would have answered it.”

“So you wouldn’t be asking me,” I say helpfully.

“So I wouldn’t be asking you.”

He takes a breath. Evasiveness is not his game.

“I was expecting an important call,” he says patiently, “I gave them the land line number—the call was actually for you. They would be calling you on the landline.” He is speaking extra slowly, so I would understand.

I pause. It’s a long pause.

I realize this must be irritating for him. I have nothing to hide. I decide to spill the beans.

“Yes, there was a call. It might have been for me. Or it might have been for you.”

He sits down, waiting.

“Actually,” I confess. “I lost the call.”

“Call waiting?” He asks, a note of sympathy in his voice.

“Yes,” I say wearily. “It happened again.”

Tell me about it. I sense the counselor in his voice.

I sit on the couch, careful not to lie down.

“It’s like this. Aunt Margaret was on the line. She had a brush with a scammer yesterday, and she was in quite a state. I had to calm her down. It took awhile. Suddenly the phone beeped. I hate that beep, but I was all ready to press the ‘flash’ button, except that Aunt Margaret…”

“…didn’t take a breath,” he finishes.

“Exactly.” I say, “I couldn’t interrupt her, just as she was beginning to tell me about her heart palpatations….what if she fainted?”

“Very concerning,” he says, taking off his coat. “Wonder who called. Hope it wasn’t…”

“…the call you were waiting for? Who was that, by the way?”

“Your broker,” he answers, “Called me by mistake…I told him to give you a call. Stock jumped. He needed your okay to sell. You could have made enough for that trip we were planning…”

“But couldn’t he still sell it?” I suggest, jumping off the couch.

“Too late,” he says. “It’s already tanked.”

I opened my mouth. Several expletives escape.

“Did he leave a message?” he asks.

“No, I already checked, no message.”

“Just to end the mystery,” he suggests, “I’m going to dial *69.”

“Don’t bother,” I say, “I already did that.”

“And?”

“The last number that called is Big Brothers. Usual call about a pick up.”

“Oh well,” he sighs, “I guess we’ll never know.”

The phone rang. We both jumped—he got there first.

I watched as his eyes grew wider. He caught my eye.

“Hmmm.” he finally said, nodding, “Okay…okay…Well, I’m glad…I love you too.”

“Who was it?” I breathed.

“Aunt Margaret,” he said, exhausted. “She’s feeling one hundred per cent better.”

“Oh, tell me more! What else did she say?”

“I’ll tell you in a minute,” he said, “But first, let me just check if this caller I missed left a message.”