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A reluctant moan escaped her lips. “Ugh, I really do. It’s such a curse.”
I kicked off my boots, crossing my legs over her bed, my heart galloping happily in my throat. I pulled her nightstand drawer open, knowing tiny hairbands were waiting for me in a small tin box, and patted my thigh. Begrudgingly, she rested her head on said thigh, staring up at me, blinking at her ceiling.
“So I have a question,” I said.
“No, you cannot be the godmother.”
“Shush. Of course, I’ll be the godmother.” I began parting her hair into neat sections, getting ready to Dutch-braid it. “I wanted to ask if you sent me a broccoli cake for my twentieth birthday.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “That’s random.”
“But true…?” I peered into her face, brushing each piece of her hair with my fingers.
“No. The only thing I wanted to send you over the years was anthrax, and I was too scared to get caught.” Dylan shook her head. “Not me. Sorry, Dot.”
“I’m asking because you’re the only person who knew about my gross cake wish,” I explained, even more confused than I was before. If it wasn’t Dylan, who was it?
“Oh Christ.” She rolled her eyes as I began braiding her satin-soft hair.
“Christ, what?” I frowned.
“Christ, Jesus…?” She pressed her lips together, eyes flaring in her alarm, like she had said something she shouldn’t.
“Tell me.”
“Shut up.” She clamped her mouth shut.
“Come on, Dylan—”
She leaped up, grabbed one of the red-and-pink cupcakes, and shoved it in my mouth. She missed by a few inches and it landed on my ear and hair. I gasped audibly. This was a declaration of war if I ever saw one.
I picked up a cupcake, hurling it in her face with surprising force. It hit her eye. Dylan’s jaw slacked. “No, you didn’t.”
“Did too.” I crossed my arms over my chest.
She picked up the cupcake she’d shoved in my face from my lap, smearing it all over my face. I, in return, shoveled cupcake crumbs and frosting into her mouth. Soon, we were flinging cupcakes at each other while making squeaky sounds. I got her cheek. She got my hair. Dylan’s church-bells laughter filled the room. I was laughing too, until I remembered she was on bed rest and wasn’t supposed to get too excited. That was when I raised my arms in the air in surrender. I was pinned under her, trying to scoot back and sit up. “Stop! You’re on bed rest.”
Dylan, who had been about to shove a cupcake down my throat and suffocate me, collapsed backward on the mattress and groaned. “Oh, right. I have to take it easy.”
“Why are you on bed rest, anyway?” I straightened up onto my elbows, peering at her frosting-covered face.
“They scheduled me for a C-section. They think the baby’s gonna come out the size of a Saint Bernard. Like, ten-pounds big. I’m the poster child for safe sex, Dot.”
We stared at each other silently. Pieces of cupcake dangled from our hair and lashes. Her face was a red-and-pink mess, and I guessed mine looked much worse. We both started laughing, toppling over in her bed. I didn’t even know why we were laughing. Just that we needed that laugh very much, even if for different reasons.
Me—because I missed Dad, the only man in my life I’d ever loved, and because my fear of men stopped me from pursuing my other dreams, like the podcast.
Her—because she was with a man she didn’t like, on a journey she hadn’t chosen.
We were laughing like there was no tomorrow, a never-ending giggling sound, when the front door slammed downstairs, and I heard the voice of the man who had nearly made me come in my dress on my kitchen floor a few days ago.
“Where’s Dylan?”
Oh shit.
CAL
McMonster: Had a hellish day at work.
