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What a role reversal if F-man’s making sure I eat. That’s quite literally in my job description. Also, what time is it if this is dinner?
Once I find my phone and the clock, I learn that the four of us have been playing Stardew Valley for seven hours straight, burning away our Saturday since right after a late lunch.
When I put my headphones back on, Brigid is saying, “I better make sure my hubby has something to eat when he gets home. Can we quit after this night?”
My mouth opens to offer some helpful advice on how her husband should learn to fend for himself—even though I know full well he works twelve-on, twelve-off shifts—but F-man beats me to the punch. “Sure. Pumpkin, do you mind staying on the call after your friends pull out? There’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
Dread. Immediate, nausea-inducing dread. “I do mind, but I will oblige.”
“I appreciate it.”
Once we all tuck into our game beds, our farm saves, so I wave goodnight to Penny, grab my laptop and dinner, then head to my room with just F-man left on the line. When silence pervades, I take a shot at breaking it. “Marshi? Are you still there?”
“Sorry, yes. Is it just us? I’m new to Discord, so I wasn’t sure if your friends were still listening in.”
The fact he wants this to be super private gives me copious amounts of anxiety.
I double check the call. “It’s just us. What’s up? Is this work-related or…the other stuff?”
“Both.”
Ugh. Great.
He plows on without giving me a moment to regret my life choices. “It’s been two weeks since our last date, yet you’re still not on my accounts. It’s unusual for you to drop the ball on something important like this. I wanted to check in and make sure everything is okay. How’s the family? Is there anything going on that’s distracting you from your work?”
I nearly choke on a bite of fillet. “I know you aren’t talking to me like that.”
Humor in his tone, he says, “I’m very concerned. If there’s anything I can help you with, please let me know.”
Plopping onto the massive fluffy bed, which I have refused to sleep in out of spite, I set my laptop beside me and prop my dinner on my lap. “Do you think you’re being funny?”
“Absolutely.”
“Am I laughing?”
“I cannot be blamed for your lousy sense of humor.”
Unamused, I nibble a green bean. “That may be the meanest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He laughs softly. “Sorry. I—”
“Do it again.”
The longer it takes for him to respond, the more joy I find myself feeling.
Coughing, he manages a muffled, “Pumpkin, remember how you asked me something about having a twisted desire for abuse?”
“Maybe I do. Maybe I don’t. The real question is: are you pressing your fist to your mouth and turning tomato red?”
“Perhaps,” he murmurs.
“Lame.”
“My heart was unprepared for you to flirt with me.”
I nibble another green bean. “Playing Stardew always puts me in an uncharacteristically good mood. Also, you achieved a nickname against my best intentions. Don’t get caught off guard. I am livid. For many reasons. Primarily, I don’t want to hear anything more about joining your accounts. And I don’t want to hear you insult my work ethic, unless you commit to the bit and do it properly.”
He hums. “Mind describing what ‘doing it properly’ looks like?”
