EIGHTEEN
A VERY ROMANTIC GROUP CHAT
Zion
I don’t know what possessed me to make such a huge statement. I don’t know the first thing about romance. I don’t know the first thing about wooing anyone. Don’t get me wrong, I know it’s a sure thing. We could have gone about it like monkeys right there on the sofa and been done with it, but no.
No, I had to draw it out and make a big thing out of it.
Once I’ve made it back up to the main house, I do a fair amount of research, and then I immediately delete my search history because what the hell am I doing?
Then I spent a good amount of time sprawled on my bed, staring at the ceiling, panicking. Because the last thing you want to do is say you’re going to make some big deal out of something and then fall flat.
Having no other choice, I get out my phone.
Zion: How does one go about making an experience romantic?
Cami: Define experience.
Kaian: Define romantic.
Groaning, I squint at the screen, wishing I’d never opened this channel of communication with these two assholes. This is one of the problems with having a very small circle. You’re always having to ask the same people a variety of questions, knowing that typically, it’s going to end up in some weird bullshit.
Zion: Never mind.
Cami: Too fucking late for that.
Kaian: If this is about romance romance, I’m out.
Cami: Don’t worry. I got this.
Zion: Cami, please don’t
I’m still typing the sentence when a new message comes through, and if I wasn’t already looking up at the ceiling, begging for strength, I would be now. I don’t bother finishing the message, instead clicking on the new one.
At first, I’m slightly confused because instead of a bunch of phone numbers, I see drawn-out descriptions for each one. Because apparently Cami has been in my phone, adding contacts willy-nilly. The first message is Cami giving a rather colorful descriptive description of what she’s asking. But then the very next message is from “creatively intuitive yet understanding pop star.”
What the hell?
Zion: Before this gets out of hand, could each of you give me your actual name?
The next succession of messages isn’t names, just more laughing and poking fun at the fact that Cami obviously got into my phone. This is also a sheer indication that these people do know her well. After a significant amount of time joshing around, eventually the pop star becomes Issa, and the others, I manage to correct to Antoinette, Carolina, and Lilith, who immediately sends a middle finger and then exits the chat.
Cami sends another message to our original string, and I click it.
Cami: You won’t have to do much explaining to these girls. Avid romance readers, currently living their own HEA.
Zion: HEA?
Cami: Happy ever after, duh.
I don't bother sending her the eyeroll emoji that I want to. Instead, I go back to this new group chat, which is going wild. They don’t even ask for much explanation; they just start pinging me questions I would think are irrelevant.
I wait for the chatter to die down and then finally go about answering the most pressing questions as I remember them.
Zion: Yes, that experience. Not long. She’s probably not expecting much but would still like to try. At home. Nothing too fancy.
There’s a lull in the conversation, and then another message pops up.
