“Ready!” I pause, freezing our stance until the chorus sounds. We sing at the top of our lungs, shimmying our shoulders and playing air guitar until we’re both out of breath, and we crash in a heap on the couch.
“Oh buddy, I needed that. I think you’re getting to be a better dancer than me.”
He climbs over, hugging my side for a minute before hopping off and dumping over his Lego bin, the pieces scattering across the wood floor.
“You mean you’re going to sit and have fun and play with your Legos while I’m stuck doing the stinky dishes?” I tease, standing to make my way back into the kitchen.
“Yup!” he hollers with a smirk.
“Don’t blame ya, buddy.”
My second favorite Taylor Swift song starts to play, so I turn the volume up and set it on the counter by the sink, sighing as I take in the expanse of dirty dishes waiting for me.
“Maybe part of my kidney funds could buy a dishwasher.” The kitchen is the last area of the house that needs serious renovation. It’s old, outdated, and half the time the appliances are on the brink of explosion, but I haven’t had the time or extra money to figure out exactly what I want to do with it yet. I flip the sink handle up, letting the water take its time warming as I empty the dirty dishes from the sink.It takes a few seconds for me to hear the subtle sound of water flowing from somewhere other than the faucet, and I pause to make sure it isn’t part of the song. As I look down to silence my phone, I gasp in horror when I see water leaking out from the cabinets underneath the sink.
“Oh, shit.” I slam my hand down to shut off the faucet and whip open the cabinet doors under the sink, only to be met with a tidal wave of water as a lake begins to pool at my feet.
“Shit. Shit. Shit,” I curse to myself, grabbing the kitchen towel that’s hanging from the oven handle and tossing it on the mess before rushing to the hall closet for bath towels.
Once the bath towels have soaked up most of the mess, and the leak dissipates into a slow drip, curiosity has me reaching for the faucet handle. I flip it up, and water immediately sprays out from a crack in the pipes.
“Shit. Shit. Shit,” I curse again. I’ve learned a thing or two about home maintenance since I bought this place. I can spackle a hole in the wall, paint with the best of them, and I’ve even retiled the bathroom floor. But plumbing? That’s something I don’t dare try to fix on my own.
I don’t know a damn thing about leaky pipes. Hell, I don’t even know a plumber.
I swipe my phone off the counter to look up plumbers in my area, wondering what I would even tell them besides I have a leak under my sink. I scroll the list, hoping a recognizable name jumps out at me, or that I find someone who at least advertises weekend hours. Seeing nothing promising, I open up the group text and ask the girls for advice.
Me: Do either of you know anything about plumbing? Or by chance have the info for a plumber that makes house calls on the weekends?
My phone rings the instant I set it on the counter, Lainey’s name scrolling across the screen.
“Hello.”
“Plumbing woes?”
“Yeah, any chance your super nice, helpful, brilliant husband knows anything about plumbing?”
Lainey barks out a laugh. “Yeah right. My brilliant and helpful husband is a lot of wonderful things, but a plumber isn’t one of them.”
The phone scratches as a muffled male voice says something to Lainey. She giggles, coos something back, and I pull the phone away from my ear so I don’t have to listen to their foreplay.
“I’m not even there and you guys are grossing me out.”
“Sorry about that,” she says breathlessly. “What’s going on exactly?”
“I have a leaky pipe under the kitchen sink, water all over the place, and I don’t know if it’s something as easy as tightening a part of it or if I need to replace the entire thing.”
“Oh, actually you’re in luck, Jim’s here. Him and Ryan are having their weekly hang out session, I’ll bet he can help. Hold on a second.” I hear her muffled voice telling someone about my plumbing woes. A male voice answers, and then Lainey comes back.
My heart flutters at the mention of his name. “No, no that’s okay. Tell him it’s fine, he doesn’t have to come. Wait. What do you mean weekly hang out? Like a date?”
“Sort of,” she giggles. “If they haven’t seen each other for a while, they get together and drink coffee and talk. Like two clucking hens on a day date. Today they sat on the patio and Jim brought scones. They are so precious.”
I hear Ryan grumble something and then Lainey’s squeals, again, starting the gross PDA that we are constantly subjected to.
“Anyways, Jim can help. He will be there soon.”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll just call a local plumber or something.”
