“He does have a whole thing…Tullylandia,” Goldie says, waving her hand in my direction.
“I know, I know,” Erin says. “I’ve been at the games and experienced the whole ‘Who’s your daddy? Tul-ly! Bemydaddy, Tul-ly’ outcry as well, but closure looks better in a well-fitted jacket.”
Her shoulder shrug is the equivalent of a mic drop.
• PERFECT AMOUNT OF GLOW-UP
Ava whispers to me, “She’s not wrong.”
I groan louder.
Erin unfolds the napkin so it’s bigger and taps the pen against it. “Step four: controlled reentry.”
“I’m scared of whatever the hell that is,” I say.
“Do I even want to know?” Goldie says, cringing.
“You should be scared, Tulls, because this is the hard part,” Erin says, completely serious. “We do not ‘hey girl’ text. We wait for a natural opening.”
“What if there isn’t one?”
She smiles. “I create openings.”
“No.”
She’s undeterred.
• NO RANDOM TEXTING. STRATEGIC CONTACT ONLY
“Step five,” she says, pointing the pen at me: “You get a life.”
“I have a life.”
“You have a life during hockey season. This summer I’m pretty sure your routine is a pizza box.”
Ava tries not to laugh.
“I still have a life,” I mutter.
• BE INTERESTING. NOT AVAILABLE
I stare at the list.
This is unhinged…but fucking structured.
Erin points the pen at me dramatically. “Final step.”
I sigh. “This is the longest motherfucking list known to man.”
She writes slower just to bug me.
• IF SHE DISAPPOINTS, WE WALK AWAY HOTTER
Silence.
I look at the list. Then at her. “It’s almost as if you’ve done this before.”
Erin scoffs. “Please. I can do this in my sleep.”
