Page 38 of Snowed In

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I can eat it. I just don’t get it.

Please send me a picture of your apartment if you’re home.

…

Thank you.

It’s just liquid food.

Goodnight, Megan.

I told my mother. Think she bought the whole “just bumped into each other” thing.

Is that why she followed me on Instagram ten minutes ago?

SHE DID WHAT???

I’ll pick you up at 1 p.m. tomorrow.

For what?

Funny.

Are you up?

I’m at the gym. Are you okay?

I’m fine.

Actually I lied! I’m not. I’m backing out.

You can’t back out. You signed a contract.

I signed a cocktail napkin.

You just have last-minute nerves. This is going to be good, Megan.

Or it could be bad.

It won’t be.

How do you know?

I know.

I’ll see you at 1. Okay?

Megan?

Okay.

“This is so weird.” Frankie stares at me from where she sits cross-legged on my bed. She’s wearing a pair of fuzzy socks that I made for her, and her hair is currently halfway through dying what looks like some sort of vivid purple. “Like, I can’t believe you’re doing this; that’s how weird this is.”

“If it helps, I can’t believe I’m doing this either.” I stuff another handful of underwear into my bag and check the time: 12.56 p.m.

“You’re going to have to kiss him.”

“Not all the time.”

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