“Shut up,” I whisper. It’s bad enough re-reading this with her, I don’t need my embarrassment stoked further.
She’s gleeful as she continues to scroll and read. “Good Guy is funny, Soph.”
“He is,” I agree.
“He’s funny the same way you are. He knows his dough is tasty and doesn’t have to fit into a cookie cutter,” she says.
“What does that even mean?” I ask, laughing. I know I’m high, but that makes no sense.
“You know. When you roll out dough there’s all this potential, but then you bake and eat only what fits into thecookie cutter. That’s what the world gets—the cookie cutter. But what about all the bits that are left behind and discarded because they didn’t fit? Me, Benji, and Mabel know them, but the rest of the world doesn’t, and they taste fucking amazing too.” She hesitates and yawns. “Sorry, it’s been a long day, and I’ve got baking on the brain.” Baking is a new hobby that she’s been fixating on, and now it’s a metaphor for life, I guess. “Long story short, all of you is tasty. Let him, hell, let everyone, see it all. You deserve that.”
“I like him,” I admit with a smile.
She stares at me for a few seconds and then laughs a little. “Do you even realize how cute you are right now? You’re flirting with a stranger online.”
“Are we? I can’t tell. I mean, maybe a little at first, but I think we’re just supposed to be friends. He’s easy to talk to. I like easy.” Lola is the only one I can be this honest with.
She elbows me affectionately and encouragingly says, “You do you, but flirting with Good Guy could be fun. He’s more like you than anyone you’ve dated. I still have a good feeling about him.”
“Maybe he’s my future bestie who’s also going to be my kidney donor?” I venture.
She shakes her head and looks incredulous. “How many times do I have to tell you? I’m your bestie and kidney donor. Stop trying to replace me, bitch.” She playfully hits me with her pillow before she scoots off the bed. “I need to go shower the Witcher off and get some sleep.”
“Eww. Love you, Lo.”
“Love you more.”
eight
This morning’sbeen an endless worry loop, so after lunch I call down the stairs, “Wanna go for a walk, Lo?”
“It’s ninety-nine degrees outside; I’d rather pull my spleen out through my asshole with salad tongs,” she calls up.
I can hear the low hum of the TV keeping her company.
“A simple no would’ve sufficed.”
“No, in no way conveys how much I despise this hellish heat. You should come down here where it’s bearable. There’s aTwilightmarathon on.”
“Which one are you watching?” I ask.
“Eclipse. But don’t worry, Bella’s already screwed over my precious Jacob. You’re safe to come down; it’s all about Edward now.” She sounds bitter. She’s always been Team Jacob, and I’ve always been Team Edward.
The descent into the basement cools with every step. By the time I reach the bottom, I sigh in relief.
“Remind me again why I didn’t take the basement and give you the bedroom upstairs?”
“The perks of your spotless credit, overachiever. Your name’s on the lease; you get the primary suite. Them’s the breaks,” she explains as she pops a piece of kettle corn in her mouth.
Pinching the front of my T-shirt, I stretch and release like an accordion to promote airflow. Living in an old home without A/C means living in a perpetual state of stickiness all summer.
She pats the sofa cushion next to her. “Come. Sit. You’re right on time; Edward’s turning on his sparkly emo charm like a motherfucker.”
I take a seat. And a handful of kettle corn.
The second the scene wraps up, Lola mutes the TV and swivels to pry my thoughts. “What’s wrong? You’ve been extra quiet. That means you’re overthinking.”
I swivel too, but only partially so I don’t have to look her in the eye. “Why does it have to mean I’m overthinking? I could just be thinking.”
