Page 24 of Definitely Not a Thing
And all for what reason?
To avoid unpacking them fucking boxes.
Excellent decision-making, Ames.
In the mirror, I surveyed my hairline, making sure it was still intact after a hellish soft-loc experience a few years back. Once I was satisfied that I hadn’t destroyed any follicles this timearound, I started gathering my supplies to do a real detangle before I put my head under the water.
A process interrupted by a knock at the door.
Immediately, I frowned – I wasn’t expecting anyone, and my friends and I weren’t “pop up” kinda people. My next thought was that maybe it was Hunter, which set off a confusing mix of emotions – the exact thing I’d been trying to avoid by zoning out on social media while I did the braid takedown.
Two weeks out of a long-term relationship, I was still, in fact… sad.
Hell, two weeks was pushing it – eleven days.
It came and went in waves of course, and life moved on, but the possibility of running into him not just out and about in the neighborhood butin the damn building?
Made me want to stay cloistered in the safety (emotional, and relative) of my apartment.
Or not even go home.
I hated the feeling, but… it was where life had landed me, for now. A repeated knock on the door reminded me this wasn’t the time for musings – and also let me know it wasnotHunter at the door.
Whoever was at the door was currently recreating the ClipseGrindin’beat.
Definitely Calvin type behavior.
Luckily, my preliminary detangle had left me with hair that needing washing still, but was presentable enough to interact with the public. I took advantage of the peephole, frowning a bit at the unfamiliar face.
I recognized the oversizedProxydelivery tote in their hands, though.
“Can I help you?” I asked, opening the door even though I hadn’t ordered anything.
I was met with a – very glittery – grin from the woman standing there, who gave me a onceover as she nodded.
“Whassup – I’m Jeanie,” she said, and I raised an eyebrow.
“Okay… nice to meet you Jeanie… I’m Amelia.”
“Oh I assure you, the pleasure is mine,” she told me, licking her lips.
Is she serious?
“Is that a delivery?” I asked, trying to redirect Jeanie and her grill and tatted arms.
She looked down at the bag like she’d forgotten it was there, and nodded. “Oh – yeah,” she said, maneuvering the top of the tote open to remove a greasy cardboard box and a plastic container of salad.
Why did I accept the food into my hands?
Reflex, confusion, stupidity, some mixture of all of the above.
Whatever it was, I immediately regretted it, because… grease.
And it literallysmelledlike heartburn.
“So Amelia… what you getting into tonight?” Jeanie asked. “You busy or something?”
“Why?” I asked, already knowing what was happening, but wanting to hear it.
