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“You good?”
“The flour exploded, obviously,” Jacob snarks at me.
“Obviously,” I snark back, putting the ice cream in the freezer for after dinner, “What’s for dinner?”
“Mama’s chili, so sit your ass down at the table because it’s ready.”
Jacob sits first, his elbow resting on the wooden table surface as he shovels the chili into his mouth before my ass even hits the seat.
Both our phones ping the annoying notification sound from the app. Pulling our phones from our pockets, our movements in sync.
“I have a date,” I say.
“I have a date,” Jacob says at the same time.
“Well shit, what day?”
“Tomorrow, you?”
“Same.”
“What are the chances?” Jacob chuckles, sets his phone on the table, and returns to his food.
“Yeah, man, what are the chances,” I laugh, but it’s hollow.
A sense of foreboding hits me in the chest, and I can’t decide if us both having a date the same day is just some creepy twin shit or if it’s a bad thing that’s going to bite us in the ass.
