Page 18 of Sending Love Letters to Animals

“He’s not interested.”

“How come?” She asked while shoving a hand into the bowl of popcorn.

“Did you put hot sauce on it?”

Jules shook her head sassily. “Are you blind? Of course, I did.”

I laughed and reached for the bowl. “Yeah. Okay. Sorry. And you know, he doesn’t like to burden people. He thinks he’s a burden, I mean.”

Jules rolled her eyes.

“What?” I asked.

“He’s such a mood.”

“That’s not how you use that,” I said. “And don’t be mean.”

“Bruh,” Jules said, “it’s always ‘poor pitiful me,’ get me? Like, you always try to include him in stuff and he’s always, like, I don’t want to bother anyone. Dude, why would someone invite you if you’re a bother?”

“You depend on other people to drive you everywhere and help you be as mobile as possible.” I explained before stuffing a handful of spicy popcorn into my mouth. “The world’s not exactly built for disabled people.”

“Jeez. Chew your food. Well, yeah. I know,” Jules said. “But why just assume you’re a bother when people obviously want you to join in?”

“I guess it becomes the default after enough people make you feel that way?”

“Okay, okay. Fine. He has my pity.”

“Gross, dude,” I said, turning up my nose. “I don’t pity Davud. I just feel bad that no one thinks about asking him to join stuff or, I don’t know, adjusting things just enough to make it easier for him to join in. That’s all.”

“You’re such a soft boy.” Jules cooed.

“Drop it.”

“Ooooooh, feisty. Is your bergina issue from Monday flaring up again?”

“Not funny.”

“It’s a little bit funny.”

“Fine,” I said. “It’s a little funny. But that’s just between us.”

Jules laughed around a mouthful of popcorn.

“Let me just text him to let him know if he changes his mind…”

“Thank God,” Jules said. “I’m ready for some scares. Speaking of scary—you know that fool Connor told me we should meet up for coffee to work on our project?”

I smiled as I tapped out a message to Davud.

“What are we going to do?” she asked. “We’re not supposed to talk. Are we just going to sit in Starbucks and stare at each other over a couple of mochas or something?”

“Connor strikes me as more of a black coffee guy,” I said before setting my phone on the side table and reaching for the popcorn. “Like he’s trying to impress someone.”

“Well, I’m easily impressed with Starbucks, but it’s still a dumb idea.”

“Starbucks?” I turned up my nose. “The Bean Counter or nothing!”

“You’re so bougie. Starbucks is fine.”