Page 28 of Friendshipped
Memaw starts to stand. “I’ll help you Jenny.”
“No, Mama. You stay right there. This won’t take me but a minute.”
Dad quietly pushes his chair back and walks toward the kitchen, shaking his head at me with a questioning look on his face.
“My phone dropped into the salad,” I explain. “I’m just going to wipe it off and help Felicia clean up.”
I pass Dad as I head into the kitchen and he walks back to mom with a few towels. Felicia has her head bent over the sink. She’s using the spray nozzle to rinse potato salad out of her hair. I set my phone down to help her.
When Felicia appears to be free of all the remnants of our side dish explosion, I whisper scold her.
“What were you thinking Mrs. Potato Head?”
Felicia looks at me sideways.
“Too soon for potato jokes?
“Wayyy too soon,” she says, but she laughs.
We both erupt into a laughing fit and then I reach over toward her ear. “You’ve still got a little something …”
“I’m never eating potato salad again! I just wanted to see who messaged you.”
She picks up my phone and wipes at the screen with a damp dishtowel. She’s mostly smearing the mayonnaise around, so I walk over and take the phone from her.
“Look at the notification,” she suggests in a quiet voice.
“Okay,” I say. “Hold your horses.”
I finish wiping the screen with a damp cloth and open the app. Thankfully I’ve got one of those cases you could supposedly roll a tank over or drop in a cesspool—or apparently potato salad—without incurring any damage.
“His name is Hank,” I tell her quietly.
“What did he say?” she asks in an equally subdued volume.
I read her his message.
Hi, Lexi, I’m Hank.
You saw that from my profile, I’m sure. I live in Huber Heights. I’m interested in connecting. We have some things in common. I like reading and I went to Miami U. Message back if you would like to connect.
“He seems pretty normal,” Felicia says.
“Is that the bar we’re setting here?” I ask.
“You know the saying,” she says, her eyebrows raised, and her head tilted.
“What saying,” I ask.
“If you want to marry a prince, you may have to kiss some frogs.”
“There will be no kissing of frogs,” I assure her. “None. I’m on a strictly no frog snogging policy.”
“I’m just saying you may have some flops before you land a guy you want to keep seeing. Don’t expect perfection. There are great people on these apps and then there are some who … well, maybe they should be seeking professional help … or, be under supervision when out in public.”
Seriously?
What have I gotten myself into?
