I scramble upright to the very edge of the seat.
Leo: Do I give you ten bucks if you’re right?
I refresh my inbox to make sure I’m not imagining it. Then again. And again. My phone clatters onto the coffee table, and I leap to my feet. It’s real.
He replied. He replied. He replied. He replied.
Holy shit. I squeal and sit down, only to stand back up. I jump from foot to foot, covering my mouth to hold back a scream.He replied.
Leo saw my message. Leo knows I exist. Leo’sengagingwith me.
Adrenaline buzzes through my veins, and I let out another excited screech before dropping onto the couch—as if that might compose me. My lips are trembling with uncontained excitement; I could run around the block ten times, and I’d still be bubbling with energy.
Okay.
Deep breaths.
I can do this.
I can think of a nonweird reply that’s fun—not desperate, clingy, or obsessive—and leaves things open for further discussion. Easy peasy. No pressure. No worries. I’ve got this.
Minutes tick by as I stare at the message thread.
I don’t got this.
My thumbs fly over the screen, then I frantically hit Delete. No, I’m coming off too intense. I repeat the same process over and over, but every message I type is worse than the last.
Come on, Mina.Think.
My leg bounces up and down, nerves getting the better of me as a hundred different responses fly through my head. I massage my temples. How hard is it to reply to someone?
Whatever. Fuck it. Without letting myself overthink it anymore, I tap out my response and hit Send.
Mina: The contract terms were never negotiated. I’ll give you a discount and settle for five. I’m in a generous mood.
Oh, God. It sounds stupid. He’s never going to reply to that.
I chuck the phone to the other end of the couch, then drop my face in my hands to suppress a scream.
It’s fine. I’m fine.
Minutes pass. Or maybe just a handful of seconds. My brain still won’t shut up. God, what if he hates what I said? What if it’s too boring, and he doesn’t reply? What if he thinks it’s too desperate?
My phone buzzes. I scramble for it.
Leo: Good, because you now owe me five.
My pulse runs rampant. A smile spreads across my face.Leo doesn’t hate it.
I put a timer on for twelve minutes and set my phone down without clicking into the message. That’s enough time to wait before responding, right? Under five minutes is too keen. Ten is too specific. Fifteen feels too long.
Okay, eleven is safe too—I don’t want to wait longer.
Forcing myself to my feet, I decide I need a distraction, so I get into some house cleaning and try not to count down the seconds.
I dive for my phone as soon as the alarm goes off, type up my reply, and hit Send.
Mina: Venmo or CashApp?
