“Lina,” she warns.
“Can’t I just enjoy my mother’s company? I haven’t seen you all week.”
“Can you come enjoy my company at dinner? In a few hours?”
“Fine!” I throw my hands up in the air and go to grab my things.
“You got a weird delivery yesterday,” she calls out on my way out the door. “I had the delivery man put it on the roof.”
“The roof?”
“That nursery in Red Hook dropped off a tomato plant?” she says in the form of a question. My stomach fills with warmth. “It’s big. And already filled with tomatoes, so you don’t really need to do anything with it. Maybe just water it a few times a week. The tomatoes are all mostly ripe and ready to be picked. I took some off,” she says, using her chin to point towards a bowl of cherry tomatoes sitting on the counter.
I’m already marching up the stairs.
Up, all the way up, and I push through the door and step out onto the aluminum rubberized coated roof, where a tomato plant, full of the small, cherry ones, stands about five feet tall.
There’s also an adorable watering can sitting next to it.
I sit right down on the roof to look at it. I feel like I’m glowing, with an actual light, like the actual sun.
This plant was delivered yesterday. Which meant Dom found time during an insane and sleep-deprived work day on Friday to get my address (which I wouldn’t put past Oliver to give away) and find the closest nursery selling tomato plants. Fully grown ones, mind you, because he probably figured out how busy I actually am and that I have no real time to grow an entire fucking plant from a seed but still wanted to help me achieve New and Improved Real Life Lina. Because I mentioned it to him in passing one time. A… week ago. Because he has probably listened to every word that’s ever left my mouth with that deep intensity he dedicates to everything.
I briefly consider sending a topless selfie of myself standing next to the plant, but I’m not sure what sort of privacy settings are on his phone, and it probably wouldn’t do for Frankie to see her assistant principal’s or her father’s new… fling?Girlfriend’s?… tits.
Am I hisgirlfriend? This brings a fresh moment of panic. From one tall, dark, handsome, and tattooed boyfriend to another? In the span of aweek?
Two weeks ago I had sworn off luxury yachts, and here I was, fourteen days later, riding on one. Literally. And it’s potentially my boyfriend.
I pull out my phone to ask him. Because despite my panic, Dom is actually calm, reasonable, and honest, and he will be able to clearly and directly define this for me and talk me off the ledge.
am I your girlfriend?
I like that he doesn’t play games and responds almost immediately.
Gang DILF Dom
I think that if there is a spectrum that goes
One-night stand
Friends with benefits
Dating
Relationship (boyfriend/girlfriend)
Partnership
Married
Then you and I would probably be somewhere in the “dating” section
I knew he was the right person to ask. But would I feel better or worse about myself if we were in the friends with benefits section? Then again, that wouldn’t be possible, because Dom made it very clear that it wouldn’t work for him. But how about for me? But I agreed to this. I said I would try. Because I do really like him. And he’s nothing like Mike. And he gets me functional gifts like a tomato plant because he is the King of Active Listening.
thank you for the tomato plant.
I was gonna send a selfie of me and the plant with my tits out but wasn’t sure what kind of access Frankie had to your phone
