back in january
Yuki
8:22 p.m.
holy shit. and you married a waitress who
spends her free time telling stories
Grace
8:24 p.m.
i like your stories. they make me
feel like i am not alone
they remind me of that
Yuki
8:28 p.m.
you’re not
alone, i mean
it’s my turn, right?
Grace
8:29 p.m.
for what?
Yuki
8:31 p.m.
to call. i said next time was my turn
Grace
8:32 p.m.
you don’t have to. i promise i’m fine
Yuki
8:34 p.m.
i can’t hear you i’m dialing
...
was it this scary? calling me?
Grace
8:36 p.m.
terrifying. you really don’t have to
Incoming call from: Yuki Yamamoto
“Hello?”

Yuki lets out an audible, relieved breath. “Grace Porter? That you?”

Grace laughs softly, unwilling to ruin their quiet, hushed atmosphere. “Who else would it be?”

In the background, there is the noise of a city that never sleeps. “A clone,” she answers. “Technology is very advanced these days.”

Grace closes her eyes. She imagines the soft drunken blush on Yuki’s cheeks. She can smell the sea and crushed herbs. “How long have you been walking?” she asks. “Why are you walking? It’s almost midnight your time, and doesn’t the city have, like, a million subways?”

Yuki scoffs. “You’re vastly overestimating New York City’s subway system.”

“But there are subways,” Grace argues. “Why are you walking at night?”

There’s a startled silence. “Are you white-knighting me right now? And to answer your question, I got off the subway when you texted that you were fine. I’m walking the rest of the way.”

“Yuki,” Grace sputters, sitting up in bed. “It’s so dangerous. Are you crazy?”

“Probably,” Yuki says, sounding bored. “Only assholes have whole conversations on the train. I got off like a normal human being so I could call you.”

“I could have waited.”

Somehow, somehow, Grace knows Yuki is shrugging. “Maybe I didn’t want you to,” she says. “Plus, I have mace and a Taser. I have the power to zap someone’s nuts off if they get too close to me.”

“Reassuring,” Grace says, collapsing back on her pillows. “You really didn’t have to, though.”

Yuki hmphs and Grace turns her head to hide a smile in the blankets. “Wanted to. Don’t mention it,” is all she says.

“My lips are sealed,” Grace says through a yawn. Turned away from the ceiling, she has nothing to focus on but Yuki’s quiet breathing and the faint, rhythmic thud of her shoes against pavement. “Will you tell me about your show tonight?”

“Nope, I want you to listen,” Yuki says. “I hear you yawning. Nip that shit in the bud. Drink some coffee.”

“It’s too late for coffee.”

“Live fast, die young,” Yuki says. “You should stay up and listen,” she adds, more sincerely. “I was undecided between two topics, but I know which one I’ll do now.”

Grace goes warm. “So, it’s about me,” she guesses.

“I have the right to remain silent,” Yuki says brightly. There’s the sound of keys jangling, and Grace hears, “Hey, Jarrell, just me. Yeah, I’ll lock up. Night.” Yuki’s voice comes back clearer. “I’m here, by the way, at the studio. Are you going to listen?”

Grace is exhausted. She feels like she could melt into her mattress and never see daylight again. It would be a comfortable way to go. Yuki’s voice is calm and luring, and Grace could follow it to sleep and away from the heavy weight of worries.

“Grace?”

“I’ll listen,” she says. “No coffee, but pure will.”

“Pinky promise,” Yuki demands, “that you won’t fall asleep.”

“You can’t see my pinky.”

“Your verbal pinky,” Yuki argues. “Your metaphorical pinky.”

“Oh my God.” She holds her pinky up, as if anyone else can see. “Okay, I’m pinky promising.”

When Yuki speaks again, she sounds far away, like the phone’s been put on speaker. “No crossed fingers, no take-backs. Bye, Grace Porter.”

“Wait, what—” But the call ends. “I’m married to her,” Grace whispers with an air of disbelief. “I’m married to this weird girl, and I like it.” I like it so much.

With her earbuds in, it is just Grace and the dark as she watches the loading circle on her phone and waits.

Finally, the player loads, and Yuki’s voice comes through.

“Hello, lonely creatures,” she says quietly, sounding so much different than the out-of-breath girl Grace just talked to. “Are you there? I hope you’ve had a good day, and if you haven’t, maybe being with other lonely people tonight will help you. Hopefully, I can help you.

“I struggled with what to talk about tonight. But recently I’ve found some good in a person, and hopefully they found a little bit of good in me. Tonight’s show is about the origin of lonely humans. It is from Plato, from a dialogue composed in his work The Symposium.”

Grace closes her eyes and gets comfortable.