Page 11 of She Likes It, Hey Micah
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October 8
Micah wasn’t kidding when she said she was a morning person. I wake to a text at 5:27 that is way too cheerful for a message that arrived before the sun. Two more follow it in rapid succession, and I am not awake enough for this. I slowly sit up, putting on my glasses so I can actually read what she said.
Micah Taylor: I got us a tasting with Lila’s favorite caterer this morning at 11!
Micah Taylor: Usually they’re booked out a few months in advance, but I know a guy!
Micah Taylor: They had a last-minute cancellation!
Tempted to silence my phone and go back to sleep, I weigh my options. She’s convinced she can make this event work, but if she’s still going with Lila’s caterer, it sounds like she is setting up everything exactly as her boss described it yesterday. Which was horrendous. Maybe if we were throwing an early 2000s fashion show, then her ideas would be worth pursuing, but this is Greenwood Lodge. It’s been an icon for decades, a timeless locale that would have been thriving if it had had someone to care for it before Grant set his eyes on it.
I could let Micah dig her own grave and watch Ember Events fail and lose their glowing reputation. Or I could go to as many of these planning meetings as I can and try to steer things in the right direction. I would plan the event myself if I could, but I don’t have the kind of business relationships needed to make this thing happen in a timely fashion. I don’t have business relationships at all. Not good ones, anyway.
Rubbing sleep out of my eyes, I muster up the strength to respond to her much too enthusiastic texts.
Me: I am glad you were able to secure a tasting on such short notice. I’ll let Grant know. You could have sent that all in one text, by the way. Or an email.
That last bit was probably my sleepless night talking. But seriously, who uses that many exclamation points?
Micah Taylor: Lila already asked me to set up a meeting between her and Grant at that time!
Micah Taylor: She’s sending me to the caterer in her place because she knows I know what she likes. *winky face*
An emoji? I thought people stopped using those when they hit twenty. At least that text didn’t have an exclamation point. Before I can form a response, she texts again.
Micah Taylor: Lila has a crush on Grant. Be warned! Mostly him be warned, though it looked like you might be in danger too! *winky face*
Micah Taylor: In case it wasn’t clear, you are the other part of the “us” in my first text! Lila said Grant said he wants you to be involved with this as much as possible.
Micah Taylor: I’m pretty sure you’re okay with that.
Is it too late to silence my phone? Probably. But that doesn’t mean I have to respond. Grumbling, I crawl out of bed and shuffle to the door, even though there’s a light on beyond my room which means Kale is awake. There are basically no good reasons to be wandering the apartment if he’s around, but now that I’m up, my stomach is growling at me.
I need to stop working through dinner.
I make it halfway to the bathroom before Kale’s voice fills the hallway. “Hey, dude. I was starting to wonder if you still lived here.”
I do. Unfortunately. Turning, it takes me a few seconds to find my roommate’s face amidst the pile of limbs pressed up against the wall. I think he might be upside down, but it’s hard to tell when all he wears are hammer pants and oversized knit hoodies that I’m pretty sure he makes himself.
“What are you doing?” I’m too tired to hold that question back.
“Yoga.” He says it like it should be obvious. “It helps me fall asleep.”
It’s making my neck hurt just looking at him. “How was work?”
“Oh, you know. Same old.”
I don’t know. I’ve lived with Kale for three months now, and I still have no idea what his job is outside of keeping him up at night. I’m not even sure he actually has a job, but he pays for this apartment somehow. I try not to ask too many questions because he charges me pennies on the dollar. He could be a drug dealer for all I know, but he didn’t ask for my ID when I moved in so he doesn’t know my real last name. That, plus he does his dishes, so I’m not going to complain about this situation.
“You know,” Kale says as he unfolds himself and stretches up with his hands over his head on the floor, arching his back and exposing his belly. “You could probably use some yoga in your life too. I could teach you.”
“I think I’ll stick with visits to the gym,” I mutter.
In a move that is frankly impressive, he kicks his feet up to the wall and slides to his elbows into a sort of handstand, only he’s twisted back enough that he can rest his chin in his hand. I’m pretty sure a spine was not meant to bend that way, but he makes it look comfortable. “Fischer, Fischer, Fischer,” he says like he’s scolding me. “Do you have any idea how blocked you are? Your energy is really bringing down the vibe.”
“I’ll work on that.”
