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"Well, I did help you change your diaper in middle school," she retorts.
I roll my eyes. "You bought me period pads, not diapers. Major difference."
"You were like my child who was too embarrassed to walk into the store and buy them for yourself, so I had to ‘mom up’ and buy them for you."
We both smile, but it's strained. We hate goodbyes.
I don't have a car yet, so I planned on taking the bus to work. It's not a terribly far walk, although, in the Texas heat, I might not make the half-mile trek. Maybe Julian will come to my rescue again?
When Harper heard this, she ordered me wasp spray. Harper hooked up with a cop who told her wasp spray was better than mace because it shot far and didn't spray back at you. When I told her, I'd just bring a taser, that led into a twenty-minute-long chat about how tasers mean you have to be prepared for hand-to-hand combat, something she has practiced in bed with a man as a kink.
I don't understand why she's fretting about me becoming a cat lady. Following her advice would transform me into a certifiable nut with a fervor for sex, wielding wasp spray like it's a magic wand and screaming profanities. Even the most rebellious alley cats would think twice before moving in with me.
At least some people find cat ladies cute. No one finds the other option adorable.
I glance at my bag with the huge bottle of spray sticking out. "It's in my bag," I answer. There is no way I'm bringing it to work, but she doesn't have to know that.
"And if any creep approaches you, what do you start screaming?" She grabs the handle of her luggage and tugs it closer.
I close my eyes but grin. There is also no way I'll do this either.
"I have an incurable STD," I repeat what she told me.
"Don't laugh. This is serious. It will make them hesitate. That's when you what?" She continues to quiz me.
"Why can't I just yell, I have Covid? Why must you always label me with an STD.”
“Because fifty years from now, when we’re in a nursing home reminiscing, it’s going to be much more memorable joking about STDs than Covid. That and STDs always strike fear into people; even the devil practices safe sex.”
"You would know." I elbow her.
“That I would; remember that guy I went out on a date with who was a Satanist?”
“How could I forget? He wanted to show you his shrine.”
“Because he wanted to sacrifice me on it. Not gonna fool me, buddy.” She rolls her eyes dramatically. “I told him I have a strict ‘no sacrificing’ policy on the first date. You know, gotta keep it classy.”
I snort and shake my head.
“So tell me, what do you do after you start screaming?”
"That's when I pull out my wasp spray, aim at the face, kick them in the balls, and run like a gold digger that sees a billionaire." I quote her exact words back to her.
I expect laughter, but she just nods and swallows.
"I'm going to be fine," I assure her. "It's you who is going to a different country, and remember, they aren't used to your crude innuendos."
"I know." We start walking towards my door. "Consider my trip to France my missionary trip. I'm on a mission to spread the word and gift of knowledge that women can be sexual creatures and make naughty comments."
I chuckle as we enter the hallway. Having Harper here has helped me chisel my abs from so much laughing. I'm losing my pumpkin spice love handles.
As I fumble with the keys to lock my door, Harper glances at Julian's door with a mischievous grin.
"You'll see him again soon," she assures me, nudging my shoulder playfully.
"What about Kent?"
"Kent is old news," she declares with a dramatic eye roll. "Like you said, I'm going to France to start my missionary trip of spreading the sexual gospel. I'll convert the masses with my charm and witty banter.”
