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Water splashed out of the sink and onto the green formica countertops, forming a small puddle that oozed at the edge of the basin. Sol watched the streaming water from the faucet fill the cereal bowl he?d just put in the sink, turning the milk from white to a thin, translucent color. A few flakes of puffed rice bobbed on the surface, then spilled over into the drain.

?There?s my handsome son.? Sol turned and looked over his shoulder at his mother. She stood there beaming at him as if he?d hung the moon, her frame shriveled with age and her grey hair dyed pale apricot in the fashion so many of the ladies in her Bingo league sported. ?Where you off to today, huh??

Sol looked down at the white undershirt he was wearing, the worn-in jeans, and the socks on his feet. ?I?m not going anywhere,? he said, but his confusion made the statement sound more like a question than a statement of fact. ?Where are you going??

His mother was in her ?good? pearls, which were really just her best looking fake ones. Though he was sure she had real jewelry stashed away somewhere, it seemed only to come out at weddings, funerals, and Bar Mitzvahs. A brocade pair of Moroccan slippers were on her little feet and a small handbag was clutched under her arm.

?Off to see the girls!? She winked, teeth flashing in a smile. ?And Doris is bringing her granddaughter. Maybe you want to go??

There was a suggestive tone to her voice, and it didn?t take a genius to figure out what she was implying. At least once a month since he?d moved back in with her, his mother had been trying to set him up with all her friend?s daughters and granddaughters. She was forgetting though; he?d already met Doris?s granddaughter, and the girl- while charming- was a charming nineteen year old. At thirty-two, he?d felt like a pervert all through a long, awkward dinner in which his mother and Doris tried to set him up with the teenager. He?d smiled politely, nodded at all the right times, and made sure not to make contact with her when passing the peas.

Sol felt his neck go slightly warm, but said nothing for a moment. He carefully deposited his cereal bowl into the dishwasher, then turned and gave his mother a quick kiss on her brow. ?Thanks, ma,? he told her. ?But no.?

He hurried out of the kitchen before the inevitable interrogation began, passing through the formal living room his mother kept spotless and down the stairs to the basement. The air became slightly cooler as he descended. Two doors led off to separate rooms, the left leading to his temporary bedroom, the right leading to a storage space his father had once used as a workshop. It still held all of his tools, perfectly in place on his peg board as if he was going to come back for them. Sol shook his head to himself and went into his room.

The cellphone on his side table was glowing. He?d missed a call and had a voice message. He flopped onto his bed and reached blindly for the phone, then dialed his own number. The message began to play.

?Hey, Sol. It?s me, Juanita. Hey, I was wondering if... Actually, I think we better talk about this in person. Will you call me back??

Sol looked down at the phone that was cradled in his hand and sighed. Call her, one part of him was saying. Return her call. The other part of him was screaming at him to delete Juanita?s number from his phone book and write her off altogether. It was time to get over it, the voice in his head said. He scrolled through his phone book and pondered her name, face contorted into a deep frown. His hand hovered over the button to delete her- if not from his life and memory, at least from his phone.

?Argh,? he sighed, and closed his eyes. His finger descended onto the button and the phone beeped. He opened his eyes and saw that she?d been deleted. Sol felt stunned, and he swallowed hard against the knot in his throat. It refused to go down, sticking to the inside of his throat like one of those bitter horse-pills. His fingers clenched the material of the blanket he was sitting on.

That was when the panic set in. What had he done? He didn?t know Juanita?s number by heart! How was he going to get it back if he needed to call her? He didn?t know any of her friend?s numbers. He didn?t even know where she lived anymore.

?Shit,? he hissed, putting his head in his hands.

?Sweetheart!? His mother?s voice rang down from upstairs. ?I?m going out! Dinner?s in the fridge!?

He heard the door open, then close; heard her key in the lock. Minutes passed, then Sol crossed the room to his computer. He pulled up the search engine, hands poised over the keys.

How do I retrieve a deleted number on my phone?

Up came a link to a small electronics shop.

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