Schrödinger’s Relationship

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Zack sighed. ‘Just text her, will you?’

‘I can’t.’ The phone lay on the table between them. Felix grabbed it, hesitated, and put the phone next to his coffee cup, face down.

‘But if you never contact Tabby again, the relationship’s dead anyway.’

‘Not dead. On hold.’

‘Effectively dead.’ Zack peeled the waxed paper from his muffin; one petal, then another. ‘She dumps you, she dumps you not…’

‘If I text her, she might text back and dump me.’

‘She doesn’t have to wait for you to text her to do that. What did you do, anyway?’

‘Nothing.’ Felix’s phone buzzed; his eyes flicked toward it like a snake’s tongue.

‘Are you going to turn your phone over?’



On the other side of campus, Tabby cracked open a can of soda and drank deep.

‘That stuff is sugary poison, you know?’ Su sipped at her herbal tea and set the cup down precisely in the middle of the saucer.

‘I can take it or leave it.’ She drank again. ‘Why hasn’t he contacted me? It’s been almost a week.’

‘It’s the twenty-first century, Tab. Ask him out on the third date. Or move on.’

‘Was I too cool, do you think?’

‘I wasn’t there!’ A couple of people looked over and Tabby collapsed into herself. Su lowered her voice. ‘Sorry. But you need to do something. You can’t be up and down like this. It’s just so unstable.’

‘He can do something.’ Tabby got up and walked towards the counter, where brownies sat in Jenga formation. ‘I can wait.’

About the Author: 
Liz Hedgecock lives in the north of England and fits as many short stories as she can into the spaces between earning a living, raising a family, and messing about on Twitter. She can be found at @lizhedgecock or more extensively at