“That’s the only way I’d do this.”
“Go on and pry those white trim caps off on the sides there. Gotta loosen the bolts holding the toilet to the floor.”
I’d tell him this video’s going to be seven thousand minutes too long, but one, there’s no way I’m letting him put a video of me sticking my hand down a toilet on the internet, and two, even if I did, it would go through my video-editing team first to get cut down for time and clarity.
But I should know how to do this.
In case I need the knowledge in Costa Rica. Naomi could have kids who toss things down the toilet one day.Icould have kids one day. Or I might just have to replace a toilet bowl. These things wear out after a while, don’t they?
I follow his instructions and get the toilet unbolted.
“Nice job. You feel strong enough to break the seal and lift that thing off the floor?”
Why the hell not?
This video will never see the light of day.
“How do I break the seal?”
“Straddle it there, then rock it back and forth. Just like that. Good job.”
It feels like I’m doing something wrong, since I never, ever would’ve considered removing a toilet to be a task I’d tackle.
Something creaks, and water starts leaking on the floor.“Gah!”
“No, no, that means you’re doing it right,” Dylan says. “Grandma Lightly, grab some of those towels. Tavi, give it two more solid rocks.”
Grandma Lightly.
I stifle a snort of amusement.
Gigihatesthegrandmaword.
“There you go,” Dylan says as Gigi throws a towel on the floor without getting close.
It’s a small bathroom.
I have no idea if she doesn’t want to be on camera or if she doesn’t fit.
“All right, Tavi, now that you’ve got it loose, I’ll pull it off the floor—”
I twist and look at him. “I can do it.”
He looks at his camera—he’s holding it aimed down at us, so he’s in the lower corner, his backward baseball cap hiding the remnants of the stitches in his head, and I’m in the opposite upper corner—and then he looks back at me. “You sure?”
“If I’m doing this, I’m doing this, silly. No, like, shortcuts.”
“Gotta lift with your hips and legs, okay?”
I grin back at him. It’s a total fake, fluffy grin. “Okay, Dylan. Whatever you say.”
I should let him do this.
I should.
But I don’t want to be here in Tickled Pink. I don’t want Gigi being an evil overlord trying to destroy the best thing I’ve ever done when I’mthis closeto success—andthis closeto never having to see my family again.
She was right about one thing.
