After the call

The call ended four minutes ago. You are still holding the phone.

It was a good call. You said the right things. You heard the right things. Nothing went wrong.

You are standing in the kitchen. You don't know when you moved there. The light is on over the sink and you didn't turn it off when you walked in, and now you are standing under it holding the phone with both hands the way people hold something they are about to put down but haven't put down yet.

There is a specific feeling that happens after good calls. After good dinners. After good days. Not the opposite of good. Something that lives just underneath good and arrives precisely when everything has gone the way it was supposed to go.

You put the phone face-down on the counter.

You look at the window. It is dark now. You can see the kitchen reflected back — the light over the sink, your hands, the phone face-down.

You had a good day.