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G is for Guilty

Amelia: March 28th, 2026

When I wake up the next morning, I can’t stop thinking about Frank. Was that whole thing real? Did I really have dinner with a total stranger? Why did I do that? Six months ago, I was accepting Calum’s proposal and now I am getting phone numbers from attractive men.

It could have been worse, I suppose. I could have slept with him. That would definitely have been worse. But then that thought won’t leave my mind. Arg. I should delete his number and pretend like that day never happened.

But what if I change my mind? What if I text him and then the next thing I know, I’m sleeping with him? That’s a leap, I know, but it’s the things I worry about. It’s the things I feel guilty about even thinking.

Okay, compromise. If his number is in my phone, I can impulse text him. That’s bad. I take out my phone and grab a scrap of paper from the kitchen. I write his number down on the piece of paper. I fold it in half, then in half again, and look for a place to put it. Under the mattress? No, that’s no good. I’m already thinking about him too much. In my underwear drawer? God that’s even worse! What is wrong with me?

I got it. The junk drawer in the kitchen. It’s a mess anyway, so it’s not like it’s easy to find amidst the random papers already in there–coupons for the grocery store that are probably expired, manuals for appliances I no longer own, you know: the junk drawer.

Now I can delete his number from my phone, but if I regret it later, I can still get it.

Even so, my finger hovers over the delete button and I have trouble going through with it. What’s the harm in a little text?

No, I need to delete it. Because right now, I have an hour to be dressed and presentable. My almost-mother-in-law is going to be here in 60 minutes.