Page 22 of Betting on the Best Friend
I can do this. Now, what was the name of that dating app . . . ?
Chapter Nine
Ruby
“Good morning, Ruby Tuesday,”Charlie says as he walks into work about a minute after me. He only calls me Ruby Tuesday on Mondays. At this point, I’d be disappointed if he ever said it on an actual Tuesday.
“So far it is,” I say. “Still plenty of time for my roommates to ruin that.”
“No one has set you up this week yet?”
“It’s a matter of time.”
He grins. “That was freaky. It sounded like Eeyore possessed you for a second there.”
I have to smile too. “He kinda did. I have a better attitude about it when I’m around them.”
His eyes brighten. “Speaking of Eeyore . . .”
“It’s almost birthday time!” I cheer. “We’re going this year, right?”
“I’m not old enough,” he says in an Eeyore voice.
Eeyore’s Birthday Party happens every year in April in a park near the Grove. It’s full of drum circles and free spirits. It’s supposed to be a family-friendly all-ages event, and therearefamilies everywhere. But there’s also a surprising number of topless women in pasties or body paint and men in loincloths. They’re hippies cosplaying in a theme of “yay for spring!”
It's peak Austin, is what it is. But living so close, we can drop in for an hour, try all the best food, and escape back to the condo before the smell of patchouli or weed can stick to us.
Maybe the oddest thing about the besties and me is that we really love the kids’ sections the best. The little gray donkey in its roomy pen. The maypole. The funnel cake.
Those are the three real reasons to go to Eeyore’s Birthday Party. Well, and hippie watching.
“It’s kind of weird that Eeyore’s party has zero Eeyore vibes,” Charlie muses. “Unlike you right now.”
“I don’t have to pretend with you.”
“And yet you’ve inspired me anyway.” He pulls out his phone then shuts the rest of his stuff into his desk drawer. “I decided to check out that app Ava picked for you.”
“You did?” This is as startling as if he’d announced he’d decided to run for city dogcatcher.
“Ava would have done a good job of vetting the different apps, so why not?”
“Why not,” I echo. It really is an echo, sounding hollow in my ears. It’s a stress reaction. Why does Charlie trying an app stress me out?
We’ve never talked much about Charlie’s love life, and if we do, it’s because I bring it up. I notice when patrons flirt with him, but Charlie’s guilty of starting it most of the time, especially with our senior citizens. It charms them utterly, but younger women aren’t immune to him either. Not if he doesn’t want them to be.
He’s mentioned going on a date here and there over the years, but he doesn’t give details—ohhh, that’s why I’m anxious. This is a change, him talking about joining an app. And if he joins, that could mean more change, like him finding someone I’dhave to accommodate. Or someone I don’t have to accommodate because she doesn’t want to share him. But Charlie wouldn’t pick someone like that.
“What do you think?” he asks.
Oops. “Sorry, got distracted. What did you say?”
“I haven’t used a dating app before so I don’t know what pictures to use. Want to advise?”
My first instinct is to say no. Um . . . crappy friend, much? But I can’t make myself say yes either. Instead, I counter with a question. “You don’t want to ask out Sydney?”
“Maybe. Thinking about it if she comes in again Wednesday.”
“You should.” Why do I like that idea better than an app?
