Voicemails //
"Do you need me to get that, Mrs. Calloway?" the housekeeper asked. Meredith sighed and rolled her eyes. This was the third call in the past two hours, and it was the fourth time the housekeeper had asked. "No, I said no," she repeated, crossing her arms over her chest as she listened to the phone ring. Meredith didn't want the phone touched when it was him calling. It was as if she could feel his anxiety, his desperation to have her pick up, and it pleased her.
After all, how many times had she called his office asking if he was making it to her next recital, just to reach his voicemail yet again? Meredith wished she could go back in time and tell that little prima ballerina that there was no point in asking him to come. He never wanted a life full of ballet recitals and girl scout ceremonies. He wanted baseball and football tournaments. He wanted a son.
Until now. Now it seemed Meredith's dear, old father wanted his little girl that was married to a politician, a Calloway no less. She had no idea what it was that her father wanted from Theodore, what cause he'd be lobbying for, and she didn't care.
The phone began ringing again, and again, the housekeeper looked at Meredith anxiously. "Just let it ring," Meredith ordered, still facing the window. She stared down at the sidewalk outside, watching the people go by. She smiled to herself. Let him start recognizing the sound of my voice mailbox.
