All the gratitude I was going to express—thanks for saving me from public humiliation, thanks for not letting them throw me out like garbage, thanks for actually admitting I'm your wife—evaporated into thin air.
"Oh, I'm so sorry," I shot back, my temper flaring. "Let me just whip out the phone you never gave me and call you on it. Oh wait, I can't—because it doesn't exist!"
He blinked.
"What should I have called you with, Adrian? A tin can and some string? Should I have sent up smoke signals? Or maybe I should've carved HELP into a potato and mailed it to you?"
"I—"
"Or here's a better idea—maybe I should've manifested a phone out of thin air using the power of wishful thinking and desperation!"
Adrian stepped back, and his expression shifted into something that might have been realization, or possibly mild embarrassment at his own stupidity.
"Oh," he said.
Just "oh."
That was it. That was his response.
