Honestly, Sam was getting a constant headache. She loved these residents, but she had to start a whole burner TikTok account, simply to monitor the elderly in her care. They started tracking TikTok challenges and swear to hell if they ate laundry pods? She was going to quit, too.
Unfortunately, she’d succumbed to social media searching, and there was a hashtag-SamiJoTok. Of course, there was. The thought made her insides twisty.
“The important thing to remember about relationships is not to spend too much time apart,” Babushka said. She studied the chessboard on Sam’s wall as she supervised pre-date prep. “Also, don’t spend too much time together.”
“That makes things complicated, no?” Sam asked, keeping only half an ear on Babushka’s advice.
“It is balance,” Babushka assured, like the wise woman she sorta was. (Sometimes, when she wasn’t on the floor.)
There was no balance in whatever this thing was with Tanner. There was onlythem.
The social media challenges were extra popular and #purplepeony had trended more than once. Sam tried to figure out how to work it in as a responsible activity and not a free-for-all. So far, no dice.
“I promise you vill not be interrupted tonight,” Babushka assured, crossing her heart. “Everyone vill be on best behavior.”
Sam finished up her eyeliner, dabbing the edges with a Kleenex. She did her best, but makeup wasn’t really her gig. Lip gloss and mascara? Easy. Eyeliner? Ugh.
Since she was now on social media to keep tabs on her residents, she checked out a few tutorial videos. Those had helped, so it didn’t look like a toddler did the application.
“Does this look okay?” Sam asked, stepping back from the mirror so Babushka could look.
She moved to Sam, gripped her chin and got right up in her face to peer. “It vill do.”
Well, that was better than nothing.
“Vhat is the vardrobe?” Babushka asked.
Sam laid out the blue dress she’d picked. Tanner said they weren’t going out, which was great because Sam didn’t really want to deal with more people. But she still wanted to look nice. To let him know she’d made the effort.
“It vill do,” Babushka said, her eyebrows furrowing together. “He vill like.”
Sam had bought it specifically for tonight. She’d hit some late-night online shopping and had it delivered. So much easier than going incognito to the store like she used to do.
“This is fifth date, yes?” Babushka asked, feeling the material of the summer dress. “You shave the kitty for him? Or go natural?”
Okay. First, what? And second…what?!
“No, this isn’t the fifth date.” How did one even count dates when you talked all the time? “And my kitty is no one’s business but mine.”Thankyouverymuch.
“If it’s not the fifth date, then you do not slap sheets. Sends vrong message.” Babushka said this like she ordered a tuna sandwich.
“Um…” Sam had sort of been hoping for a smidge of hanky panky. “Why? Isn’t it the third date rule?”
Technically, they were at the fourth date. And wasn’t that the acceptable timeline? First, the puppet show. (She’d count it if it meant they could just get on with it already.) Second, mozzarella sticks at his house. Third, the Dimefront show and the afterparty.
“No, it’s fifth date these days,” Babushka said, going back to study the chessboard.
“I don’t think so,” Sam assured.
The math wasn’t mathing. Unless if she counted the last date as two—since they’d gone to two locations, that was still considering the puppet theater as date number one. Definitely a stretch. But then they’d be at five. If the fifth date rule was an actual rule, they would simply have to fudge the math, because she wasn’t in the past anymore. And in the future? She wasn’t celibate. Not with Tanner.
“Vhen is the last time you vent on date?” Babushka asked. “Vith a different man.”
“I don’t feel the need to answer that,” Sam countered. It’d been a while. What could she say? Dating had not exactly been a priority.
“So you do not know. Things change.” Babushka shrugged. “You keep up vith change. Or you bury his bone on the vrong date and send all the vrong message.”
“You’re telling me you never have sex before date number five?” Sam didn’t want to ask. She really shouldn’t ask. This was an inappropriate question. “Never mind. Pretend I didn’t ask.”
