Anything would’ve been a better use of my Saturday evening, whether it was catching up on the latest season ofTop Chefor checking out Wok This Way, the new Asian fusion food cart everyone in Rose City was raving about. According to Xan, their Hot & Sour Power Hour was a “life-changing culinary experience.”
Then again, my friend was a lifelong vegan, and I had a hard time accepting any food-related opinions from somebody who had never known the ooey-gooey wonders of lasagna.
“This won’t take long,” Jasper murmured. He made it sound like we were waiting for a coffee order instead of a eulogy. “I had to make an appearance for my ex’s sake.”
I inwardly groaned. My brain stalled like a buffering video.
His ex.Of course.
Jasper certainly hadn’t mentioned an ex during our business communications seminar. We’d spent the first few weeks of the semester trading half-smiles over spreadsheets and complaining about a group project that was ninety percent him talking and ten percent me rewriting his points so they were more cohesive.
He’d seemed nice enough. Charming, albeit a bit boring.
So what if he had the personality of a lukewarm bowl of soup? That wasn’t such a bad thing. I liked soup, minus leek and parsnip, which, let’s face it, were the participation trophies of soups.
Damn, Jared would be proud of my sports reference.
Whereas some people gravitated toward spicy, bold flavors, I much preferred something cozy, predictable, like a bowl of chicken noodle goodness on a rainy day.
The same could be said for my taste in men. I’d take a soft-spoken teacher over a ripped gym rat any day of the week—the nerdier, the better.
Just so long as he wasn’t a baseball fan.
The men I had previously dated—all four of them—had turned into rabid fanboys the second they’d realized my brother wastheJared Pink, star pitcher for the Rose City Roasters. Thankfully, Jasper hadn’t seemed to know who my brother was, and I’d taken that as proof that he wantedmycompany.
When he’d suggested we grab dinner this weekend, I’d thought,Finally, a normal, low-stakes date. Something that didn’t involve swiping or small talk or unsolicited—and more often than not, unflattering—photos of penises.
Frankly, I wasn’t convinced that there was such a thing as a flattering dick pic. Nonetheless,I had enough of them saved to my phone gallery for an exhibit at the Met.
Cock O’clockby Arabella Pink.
When Jasper had texted this morning to confirm our date, Nessa and Clarke had leapt at the opportunity to dress me up like First-Date Barbie. The three of us had put together one hell of an outfit that according to Nessa would, “make the dude swallow his tongue.”
Everything had gone according to plan, that was until I’d been halfway through my drive to the restaurant and my phone had buzzed again.
Jasper
Change of plans. Want to meet me at this family thing instead? It’ll be low-key, promise.
A red flag factory had immediately opened up shop in my brain. Nonetheless, I’d rerouted my GPS without overthinking it, convincing myself that this was just what spontaneous girls did.
Look where that had gotten me. Slumped over in an unpadded pew, surrounded by grieving mourners, with a man who treated funerals like networking events.
Fuck you, universe.
Unable to keep my thoughts to myself a second longer, I slid my phone out of my bag and opened up the group chat labeled “Bitchcraft.”
Me
What’s the appropriate etiquette for when your date brings you to a funeral?
Those three little dots popped up within seconds.
Clarke
Is this a hypothetical question?
Me
