Page 124 of My Merry Mistake
“Did you just say the F-word?”
She giggles. “You’re such a dork.”
“I’m starving,” I say, realizing. “I didn’t eat enough today.”
“You had two hot dogs and a brat like two hours ago,” she says.
“I’m thinking pizza,” I say, not letting her facts get in the way of my perfectly good argument. “You up for pizza?”
She pauses, like she’s thinking about it, then finally says, “Sure.”
“Really?” I don’t bother to hide my surprise, but that one word feels like a golden ticket.
“I’ll order it now.” She opens her phone, clicks around on it for a few seconds, then tucks it away, leaning back into the seat. “They’re going to leave it on my porch.”
Even though she hasn’t mentioned it, I have a feeling her exhaustion is still bone-deep, and I start to wonder just how long it’s actually going to take for her to feel like herself again.
And what happens after the four weeks are up? Back to the grind?
It’s not my place to worry. Our friendship is still new, but sometimes I want to protect her—even from herself.
We reach her house, and I see her car sitting in the driveway. Someone in her family must’ve driven it over so she wouldn’t have to go out again.
“Looks like the pizza’s already here.” She fishes around in her purse for her keys. She stops and looks at me. “Is this weird?”
“Is what weird?”
“You being here?” she says. “Like, socially?”
“I don’t think it’s weird. We’re friends, right?” I’m hopeful that today put us back on the right track. “Is it weird for you?”
She winces. “Kind of.”
I laugh. “You never pull any punches, do you?”
“I don’t even know how.”
“See, that right there, that’s one of the things I like about you,” I say, my Jeep still idling in her driveway.
She laughs. “It’s not my best quality.”
“True. Your face is your best quality.”
She rolls her eyes at me.
“But speaking your mind is a close second, for sure.” I lean back in the seat. “It’s hard to find people who do that.”
She stares out the windshield. “Most people don’t like that I do.”
I shrug. “Most people are idiots.”
She laughs.
There’s a quiet lull, and then I say, “If it’s weird, I can bring your tree in, grab a slice, and hit the road. I won’t be offended.”
She seems to be contemplating this, and I’m kicking myself for suggesting it.
“Or . . . we could go inside, set up your tree, eat some pizza, and watchThe Polar Express.”
