Page 23 of Drawn Together
How is that even possible? Did I just do a giant circle around Park Slope?
He eyes me, then the table.
That’s when I see it there. A blueberry muffin with golden brown crumble on top, resting on a small porcelain plate.
I raise a brow at him, and there’s a slight tinge of pink across his nose.
“It’s yours. Just felt fair. Since you’re helping me.”
I smile at that and sit down on my own barstool. I take the plastic knife out of its wrapping and use it to cut the muffin in half, pushing the plate to the middle of the table.
When we are both settled into our seats—me more so than him—I clasp my hands together and lean forward. “So, what did you think?”
Jane Eyre was my first classic lit. My mom gave me a copy when I turned sixteen; she said her mom did the same for her. I gave the same copy to Sloane, who now uses it as a phone stand when filming her outfit of the days.
Fletcher takes a long sip of his coffee, his throat bobs, and I feel like I’m somehow violating his privacy, so I zero in on the paperback in front of him.
“I enjoyed it.”
I wait for more, then realize that was the whole sentence.
“That’s it?”
“It was certainly better than the vampires.”
“Well, I would hope you didn’t go into it comparing the two. I thought this would be a very good dipping your pinkie toe into the water of romance here. It’s got everything you need, depression and death—”
“I don’t remember saying I needed either of those.”
“With a touch of some sizzle.”
“I don’t remember much sizzle either.”
“What about the proposal scene?”
“It was effective.”
“Effective,” I deadpan. “Fletcher, that scene had nineteenth century women swooning in the streets.”
“It’s a very good thing I’m not a nineteenth century woman.”
“You were right, this won’t work.”
I take a pinch off the top of the muffin and pop it into my mouth; Fletcher watches me before straightening his back.
“Fine. Honestly, I was annoyed at how much I enjoyed it. There.”
“Details, Fletcher. That’s the point of this, we need to dive into these things. I had a full two hours blocked out on my calendar for this.”
Fletcher chokes at two hours. “What else is on that calendar?”
7:00 am – Meet Fletcher
9:12 a.m. – Stand in kitchen. Sip tea. Contemplate all past decisions while staring at my pothos like it holds answers.
11:47 a.m. – Revisit The Great Unsent Email Archive (TM).
12:36 p.m. – Make a sandwich. Call it lunch. Actually a ritual of emotional self-repair.
