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The switchboard is like the night sky, lights flickering and dancing all around me. I reach out and touch the stars. My arms move quickly, at times like a blur as I connect call after call—bringing people together, talking to them, hearing tiny bits and pieces of their lives. I’m not supposed to listen in, and usually the days are too busy for that, even if I wanted to. But sometimes I catch the glimpse of a moment that draws me in, and I have to stay on the line.
Today it’s the sound of your voice.
I’d know your voice anywhere, and even if that weren’t the case, the caller confirms it by saying your name. How many women are named Aziraphale?
So yeah, I’m weak. I listen.
“Hello?”
“I found your note.”
“Oh? The note that said ‘Don’t call me. We’re through’? That note?” That’s your voice.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Aziraphale,” he says, voice thick with condescension. “You can’t leave me. You need me.”
“No. I do not. I have a job now, and my brother helped me open a bank account. I’ve been saving my own money. I’m quite certain I don’t need you or your wandering eye anymore.”
“That was one time—”
“Three times, actually, that I know about. And speaking of my job, I have to go. My shift starts in thirty minutes.”
“Listen, Sunshine—”
My hand trembles as I grip the plug I’ve just pulled from the jack. I’m livid. I’d like to wrap my hands around your husband’s neck and choke the life from his body. Instead I take several deep breaths. It doesn’t help.
When you sit down next to me twenty-five minutes later, your eyes are red from crying.
“Don’t look at me like that, Toni,” you say. “I’m fine. I’ll tell you later. Right now I just want to pretend everything is normal.”
We work all afternoon and into the evening, and I don’t ask about the call. But I do pick up a few extra hours so we’ll leave at the same time. I’m exhausted, but it’s worth it.
“Give you a lift?” I ask. “Anywhere you want to go.” I tap my red lacquered nails on the roof of my old Bentley—not impatiently but anxiously—ready for you to reject my offer like you always do.
“Well, at present I’m living with my brother,” you say reluctantly as you stare at your shoes. I know that tone of voice, too.
“But that’s not where you want me to take you,” I guess. You shake your head. “We could go to mine. Maud will be out late with Lesley.”
You nod. You’re quiet all the way back to my flat.
Standing in my kitchen, I offer you wine and cheese, and you barely take two sips before the entire story pours out, how you planned, how you left him.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” I ask, hurt by the secrecy. Aren’t we friends?
“I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to go through with it, and I didn’t want to disappoint you.”
“You wouldn’t have, and I could’ve helped. He doesn’t deserve you, angel.”
“I know.” You touch my cheek, and the hurt melts away. You glance at my mouth, and, stupidly, I wonder if my lipstick is smudged, if that’s what you’re looking at. “You’re right, of course. I can always rely on you to know exactly how I should be treated.”
I close my eyes, because this can’t be real.
Your lips softly brush mine. I gasp, and you lean in, tilting your head, kissing me like you’ve been starving for it. You taste like honey, like everything I’ve ever wanted. You’re perfect. I could kiss you forever, but I force myself to pull away.
“Angel—”
You hush me with a finger on my lips. “You’re the one for me, Toni. Forgive me for taking so long to see it?”
“Of course.” How could I deny you anything?