Room 512, Sunday, Morning
Elena had reluctantly realized that she couldn't not tell Tseng, on the off-chance that the still-unnamed-child was really his. So she had dashed off a short text message: island amusing self again. thought you should know. and had attached a picture. That should tell him all he needed to know, shouldn't it?
And the fact that he hadn't texted back, hadn't called, told her all she needed to know. It shouldn't feel so hollow. Forget it.
Elena had no idea that the picture she'd actually sent with the text message -- thanks to Veld's tendency to push buttons -- was an extreme close-up of a completely blank spot on her wall.
Nor did she realize that Tseng had, in fact, texted her back, but that the beep had been drowned out by the more pressing (and loud) concern of Veld temporarily losing his favoritest bunny ever.
Bun-Bun had luckily been located, and Elena had tried for some semblance of sleep. Being a mom (how insane was this other Elena?) was exhausting.
(Expecting a phone call. Also very open.)
And the fact that he hadn't texted back, hadn't called, told her all she needed to know. It shouldn't feel so hollow. Forget it.
Elena had no idea that the picture she'd actually sent with the text message -- thanks to Veld's tendency to push buttons -- was an extreme close-up of a completely blank spot on her wall.
Nor did she realize that Tseng had, in fact, texted her back, but that the beep had been drowned out by the more pressing (and loud) concern of Veld temporarily losing his favoritest bunny ever.
Bun-Bun had luckily been located, and Elena had tried for some semblance of sleep. Being a mom (how insane was this other Elena?) was exhausting.
(Expecting a phone call. Also very open.)