I painstakingly type out three or four things—I really need to upgrade this phone because a single text is going to take forever at this rate. But I erase each of them before deciding on what I want to send.
Hank
You bet. How are you feeling?
Wrennie Girl
Better, thanks.
Hank
Glad to hear it. Finn hanging out today?
Wrennie Girl
For a bit. She has a shift this afternoon.
I tug on the ends of my hair, chew the inside of my cheek, and then scrub a hand over my mouth, scratching at the stubble on my chin.
Fuck it.
I type out my reply.
Hank
Do you need anything? Maybe some soup or something later?
Wrennie Girl
I didn’t scare you away with all the puking?
Hank: Nah.
Wrennie Girl
Then, yes. I’d like that.
Hank
Then it’s a date.
Ah, Jesus.
Fuck.
My thumb bounces around the buttons, frantically wishing I had an unsend button.
Stupid, old-ass flip phone.
Oh, God.
I quickly type out a reply.
Hank
Fuck. I didn’t mean a date, date.
I’ll see you later.
