Let me cook, girl.
I stop thinking and just type.
Me:Do you have any towels?
I hit Send before my brain catches up, but the second it does, I stare down at my phone, just blinking.
Aw, fuck, why did I send that?Do you have any towels ...Of all the things I could’ve said, this is what I chose. I am a loser. That’s maybe the one wrong choice I could’ve made. Dammit.
But the moment the bubbles appear, I hold my phone above me.
I’m immediately strategizing out loud to the cat.
“It’s gonna be a yes or no, so I have to figure out where to take it. Maybe I ask to have one? Then I could see her in the hallway for a minute. Or maybe I talk about how there was none in her room the other day, and we can laugh about what happened?”
Peach meows, and I nod. “Yeah, I agree. That’s perfect.”
I’m deep in thought when my phone finally dings, and I drop it on my face.
“Fuck,” I groan, scrambling for it as I blink past the pain and fuzzy eyesight before I frown.
A thumbs-down.
She left me a fucking emoji. Come on. And it’s not even on its own. It’s as a reaction. Oh ... that’s diabolical.
Still, I need to answer quickly, try and coax a response while I have her attention. But I’m at a loss for words, just looking around the room, dumbfounded, because I feel like I’ve been checkmated.
“Just thug it out, thug it out, thug it out,” I breathe out, rolling onto my side, and type.
Me:Do you know where I could find extras?
It felt embarrassing the first time, and yet the second might be worse. But she has to use words this time, so I’m doing okay.
Bubbles, then no bubbles before bam, a fucking shrug.
Is she kidding? Just say you hate love already. Jesus.
No. I don’t accept this. We’re speaking tonight. I will not throw in a white flag.
Me:Where did you get yours? Because when I took a shower in your room, there were none. Are you just air drying?
An eye roll. I mimic it in real life.
She’d be an outstanding villain. My foot’s bouncing a mile a minute under my covers as I shake my head, staring at the phone.
I don’t need this. If she doesn’t want to talk to me, fine. Whatever. I toss my phone on the bed before swiping it right back up and texting quickly.
Me:Are you really just gonna answer all my questions with , or ?
A ding.
My brows draw together as I stare down. Is that the fucking flag of Denmark?
I literally have to swipe out and look it up, only to confirm it is, in fact, the flag of Denmark.
So you want to be a smart-ass, huh? You think I can’t figure out how to make the best of this emoji shit? Baby, you better stop underestimating me.
Me:Funny story about Denmark, I spent a month there with my family when I was sixteen and became a local hero because I saved an old woman and kitten from a burning house. It’s also the first time I thought I might want to be a chef.
