“What are you even doing with her?”
“Going to a marriage counseling class with her.” I shrug again.
Derek’s face falls flat, and he’s forced to push his thin-framed glasses back on his nose. “You’re going to go to a marriage counseling class with a woman you’re not married to nor know?”
“Yeah, what’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is the therapist is going to ask you questions about each other, and you don’t know her last name.”
“Isn’t it Prince?”
“Price,” Derek corrects me.
I shrug. “That’s where the fun comes in and my ability to improv. Honestly, I’m kind of excited about it.”
He pinches his brow. “This seems like a bad idea.”
Here’s the thing about Derek Hanson. I’ve known him since high school, and one of the things I know most about him is that he never steps out of his comfort zone. Ever. He wears the same white Fruit of the Loom undershirt under all his dress shirts. He listens to the same three playlists over and over again: theHarry Pottersoundtracks, theStar Warssoundtracks, andThe Best of Dolly Parton. He knows numbers; he liked them growing up, therefore, he became an accountant. Anything that steps outsidewhat he knows, what he finds to be comfortable, he doesn’t dare touch.
So understanding my intentions behind helping Scottie out? They’re beyond him.
He also doesn’t quite understand what it’s like to feel bored.
He likes a routine. He has said time and time again, he wishes his life were just as regimented as mine, whereas I wish that I had more spontaneity.
And sure, I have the money to be spontaneous, but I don’t want to use my money like that. I want more life experiences…and convincing and lying through my teeth is one of them.
“There’s nothing bad about it. Seems like fun to me.”
Derek shakes his head. “If Denise wasn’t so crazy stressed right now, I’d ask her what the hell she was thinking by allowing this to happen, but I’m sure she’ll bite my head off if I do.”
“Yeah, I’d stay away.” I shove a big piece of cake in my mouth.
Derek watches me chew for a few seconds and then says, “Breakfast cheat?”
I swallow and then nod. “Yeah, been eyeing it all week.”
“Good?”
“Slightly dry.”
“That sucks.”
“Eh, you live and you learn.” I pop another piece in my mouth and then stand up. “I should get going. I don’t want to be late for my wife.”
Derek rolls his eyes and then stands as well. “Dude, please.”
I chuckle. “Don’t roll your eyes at me. I’m getting into character.”
“I knew you taking improv classes was going to be idiotic.”
“Idiotic?” I scoff and adjust my beanie on my head. “Derek, I’m saving lives out here with my improv skills.”
“Yeah, really saving lives.” He lifts his coffee in my direction. “Thanks for the drink. Sorry I was late. Same time next week?”
“Yup.” I pick up the rest of my coffee cake to eat on my short walk and then head toward the door.
We offer our goodbyes, and then I take off toward Third Avenue, where I’m supposed to meet Scottie. I texted her late last night, introduced myself, and sent her a picture so she knew what to look for. She responded that I looked like a bulkier version of Mika. I took that as a drunk confession, because I doubt she’d say something like that to someone she didn’t know. And then we agreed to meet in front of the Anthropologie on Third. She stated it was appropriate because there were wedding dresses in the window display.
