Page 7 of Holiday Hopefuls
“Here.” Reaching across the table, I extend a napkin his way.
Buffalo sauce continues to be haphazardly smeared across the screen before John eventually thinks better of it and wipes of his fingers. “Thanks. Okay, onto the fifth one.”
“Yup.”
“Clearly, Nacho needs someone to listen to her complain about you when you withhold extra treats.”
“Sure,” I nod. “Clearly. That’s a solid fifth reason. Especially behind needing someone who can keep a plant alive.”
“Dude, you absolutely suck at that. Instead of a green thumb, I think you just have a death thumb.”
Chuckling while attempting to drink water is not recommended. At least, not by my shirt, which is now soaked. “Thanks, man.”
Dipping his chin, the level of seriousness exuded by my best friend is hilarious. “Name one plant that’s made it longer than two weeks in your care.”
“None.” I’d pretend to hem and haw, but the fact is, I really am a terrible plant dad.
John scoffs. “Yet, Sandra keeps the dream alive.”
Grinning, I shake my head. “Mom has got to quit gifting me plants. Though, sometimes I think their deaths are self-inflicted.”
“Only because they probably know their fate,” he points out, “which makes you needing help with your plants one of the reasons for you to find someone.”
Using the paper straw to push any remaining ice further into the water, my eyes wander to the bar’s uninspired ceiling. “I wonder if this is what the next couple of months will be like.”
“What do you mean?” John furrows a dark brow, readjusting to clap for the band, who is wrapping up their final set.
“I meanthis”—I wave my hand between us—“everyone telling me how badly I need to settle down. Surely there’s something I can do, some kind of guiding light to help me make it through the holidays.” My erratic movements attract the attention of the next table over, earning us confused looks from the large group. While I awkwardly wave to try and deter them from having us kicked out, John keels over the table in laughter. Only when the others finally write us off as harmless, do I turn back to my friend. “Thanks for the help,” I say dryly.
“You looked like you had it under control.” John wipes a tear from the corner of his eye.
Rolling my eyes, I lean toward him. “What do you think?”
“You mean about people saying that you deserve someone who makes you happy? Yeah, the outrage. You really should do something about that.”
If we were in private, I might just flip him off. “I’m just saying, with how much time my family spends together around the holidays?—”
“And every other week of the year.”
“And every other week,” I concede, “it’d be nice to have just a little break.”
“I mean, sure. We’d all like a little reprieve once in a while.”
“John.”
“Okay, okay … ” John nods. “How exactly do you plan to make that happen?” He lifts a skeptical brow.
“Dunno. I guess I just wish there were someone like me. You know, in my position. But maybe that someone could convince my family that my life is fine the way it is.”
“It is?”
Narrowing my gaze, I pin John with a playful glare. “Yep.”
John chuckles under his breath. “This sounds like something you could monetize, given the right circumstances.”
“Convincing someone’s family that their life is actually good?” Furrowing my brow, I shake my head.
“Ehh, that’s a little broad.” John’s skepticism can probably be felt two counties over.
