"if you were here," you hear him say, voice crackling and wet, "i would give you a piece of this orange i peeled. i would, um." there's a shuffle on the other end, a liquid sniff. "you know i never, i never eat the whole orange. i always say, hey, do you want the other half? and you, um. you always say yes. cause that half's always for you." he laughs. it sounds like its choking him. you whisper a quiet oh, honey, and you dont think he hears you.
"I bought a bag of oranges. i keep saving the halves, leaving them, uh. in the fridge, in a little bowl. i know i should eat them. i know theyre gonna go bad, and dry out, and the nobody'll. then i wouldve wasted five bucks, yeah?" he laughs again and you hear the sob underneath it for what it is. "I cant eat them. i cant eat them, you know that. can you, um." theres a long, long pause. "can you come back? you can c-come down for dinner, i finally got mama's pasta sauce recipe. can give you half of these damn oranges." he breathes. "the cat misses you. always, um. staring at the door. shes waitin for you to come home, i think. you should." you dont say anything, and neither does he.
"please dont hang up," he says, finally, and you dont. but its a near thing.