“Why?”
“Pulled something building a fence. Or maybe running from Mrs. Delaney when she realized Rita ate her Xanax again.”
“Rita ate prescription drugs?”
“She’s fine. Probably. She’s been really calm though. Like, suspiciously calm.”
“Good lord.”
Wyatt walks in with his laptop because of course he brought his laptop to a relationship discussion. “I made a spreadsheet.”
We all groan. He doesn’t care.
“It’s color-coded. Green for Jesse, blue for me, orange for Boone?—”
“Why am I orange?” Boone complains from his pretzel position.
“Because you eat so many Doritos.”
“Fair.”
“And pink for Callie.”
“Why am I pink?”
“You had pink hair in high school.”
“That was a phase!”
“A documented phase. Mrs. Delaney has photos.”
“Mrs. Delaney has photos of everything,” Jesse points out. “She probably has photos of this conversation.”
We all look around the room. No visible cameras, but that means nothing in Cedar Ridge.
“Anyway,” Wyatt continues, “I’ve organized a schedule.”
“A sex schedule?” I ask.
“A relationship schedule that includes but is not limited to intimate activities.”
“So a sex schedule with extras. That’s creepy.”
“It also includes chores, date nights, and family obligations.”
“What a dork,” Boone complains.
“Seriously. And you scheduledfamily obligations?” I ask.
“Your dad wants weekly dinners. My dad wants monthly check-ins. That’s a lot of obligatory family time.”
“How are we supposed to have sex with a schedule?” Boone asks. “That’s like... the opposite of sexy.”
“Structure is sexy,” Wyatt insists.
“Structure is what people have when they’ve given up on spontaneity,” Jesse counters.
“Says the man who schedules his hair care routine.”
