Blech get a room
I can’t do that. Why did I do that?
I delete it.
Chord will probably still be able to see what I said in his notifications, which is not ideal.
But whatever, he should know that was a heinous photo/caption combination! I would hate it even if I had never met him or Maggie. People understand how to use the internet noweven less than they did six years ago.
Still. I don’t love that I did that.
I keep pretending that I’m fine with everything, with this stupid spiral life, but I am not.
I need to be trying harder to get myself out of this loop. I go to Layla Banerjee’s profile and dash off a new message:
Really need to talk with you. To apologize. PLEASE.
I hit Send right as Robbie, Amir, and Bodhi stumble back, giggling from their bottle retrieval mission.
“I’m down to hang with Tatiana,” I tell Bodhi. “I’m definitely down.”
March.
Maggie
When I pull into the parking lot of the Divine Diner in Pennsylvania, I immediately see Dad’s old blue Prius, and it’s like a warm blanket around my shoulders. He got that car when I was six, and somehow it’s still running. Or running enough to get him where he needs to go anyway. I’m sure there are at least three warning lights he’s been ignoring for weeks.
I deliberately left a smidge later than usual this morning because I was tired of always getting here before him. He and I do a monthly Sunday brunch with Vivian, and it’s always one of my favorite days, an escape from whatever’s going on. Even though everything that’s going on right now is pretty good—Chord and I are still dating, and I’ve been highly successful in my effort to avoid Carter in the month since the concert. He’s been avoiding me too, so that helps. I’m moving forward.
Vivian can’t come this morning because of some paper she’s writing or some film she’s editing or some play she’s rehearsing or some Ultimate Frisbee she’s throwing, I can’t remember. I’m honestly a little glad, though, as I love getting alone time with Dad.
“Hey, darling,” the blond woman in her fifties standing at the front podium says, chewing gum as always. “He’s back at your usual booth.”
“Thanks! How’re you?”
“Oh, you know. Can’t complain.”
We have this exchange every time. I fucking love it.
As I approach Dad, his mug of coffee is already in front of him, and his head is down in his phone. His bald spot is looking bigger than ever. Vivvy and I tell him he should just shave his head, but he said he’s holding on as long as he can, hopefully till his nineties.
“These kids today,” I say, once I’m in earshot. “So addicted to their screens.”
“Oh!” Dad says, not acknowledging my bad joke. He holds up the phone and presses a button. “Greetings, Maggie,” an alien voice says. “We are so pleased to see you.”
“No, Dad,” I say as I laugh. “I do not approve of this.”
“Wait, wait.” He swipes his finger across the screen and holds up the phone again. “Greetings, Maggie,” a dignified British man says. “We are so pleased to see you.”
“That’s a little better.” I slide into the booth across from him. “Though I’d still prefer to actually speak to each other. With our normal voices.”
Dad quickly types into his phone and holds it up again.
“Okay, sweetie,” a monster’s voice growls. “We can do that.”
“Thanks, weirdo,” I say. “You and your apps.”
“They’re so amazing, though, Mags!” Dad says in his actual voice. “When I was a kid, you’d have to buy goofy contraptions like this individually. Now you can get ’em all on this one machine, it’s unbelievable.”
