“Our dishwasher is fixed,” she starts, looking at me as if I’m keeping some massive secret from her. She stands with her arms crossed over her chest as she waits for me to respond, but I ignore her, wrapping the towel around myself.
“Kane walked you out of the bar last night. Well, whisked you away, more like it. Your very own broody bodyguard. Feels familiar, doesn’t it?” she muses, a slight tilt in her lips.
“I know, I was the one he whisked away, remember? Which now that I think about it, you’re the one who got him involved in the first place, so what is this interrogation about?” I slowly begin getting dressed, trying to stop the spinning of my hangover from making me sick.
“Would you like to share with the class?” Morgan implores, leaning against the counter next to me as I do my skincare, trying to make myself look like I didn’t drink my body weight in liquor last night.
I finish up, continuing to ignore Morgan and how annoyingly perky she seems this morning. She’s dressed in an all-pink tracksuit, her face fresh and her blonde hair pulled back into an effortlessly perfect bun. Clearly, I was the only one who decided to test the limits last night.
I walk out of my room and into the kitchen, Morgan trailing behind me. I start to dig into our bare fridge, making a note to go to the grocery store at some point. I can’t keep living on takeout and the granola bars I find in my purse.
I grab my leftover dinner from last night and go to put it in the microwave, only to notice the glass plate is missing. Confusion runs through me, and I turn to Morgan, who continues to wait for me to fill her in on what happened after the bar last night.
“Where the fuck is the plate?”
“What plate?” Her brows furrow as she moves to stand next to me. “Oh, the microwave plate?”
“No, Morgan. The other plate. Of course, that one.” I place my bowl on the stovetop and glance in the sink, wondering if one of us put it there to be washed.
“Okay, check yourself, grouchy. Where else could it be?” She seems just as confused as me.
I open the dishwasher to see if it’s inside, but it’s not there either. “Well, it’s not like a plate just gets up and walks away.”
Was I so drunk last night I don’t remember moving it?
Did I try to make something to eat?
I go back into my less-than-put-together room, checking the dresser and various piles of clothes on the floor for theplate—and deciding I really need to get my shit together before my shifts this weekend. I’ve let the laundry pile up, empty takeout containers and cups littering every surface, and I wince when I realize Kane saw all of it—how I’ve barely been surviving the past few weeks.
Still not finding the plate, I abandon my dirty room as my stomach growls again. Frustration works its way out of me in a low growl as I stalk back the short distance to the kitchen.
“Okay, I don’t see it anywhere,” I say to Morgan, sitting down at our light wood table with green chairs—chairs Morgan splurged on a week ago when she said thefeng shuiof the place wasn’t vibing anymore. She told me my funk was stinking up the place, so she changed most of the shared furniture after forcing me up and down the aisles of Pottery Barn and Crate & Barrel, giving her credit card tied to her father’s account a workout.
“Okay, well, if you don’t have it, it seems to be officially MIA. Has anyone been over this week?” Morgan asks.
After what feels like minutes, an idea comes to me. It doesn’t make any sense at first, but the longer I sit there, the more the idea starts to take shape in my mind.
“Do you think…” I start. “Do you think Kane might have taken it?” I look at Morgan to see if she thinks I’m as nuts as I feel.
Her face screws up like she can’t tell if I’m joking or spiraling. “Why would he take the plate? That seems like something one of those jack-offs would have done during college.”
“I think that’s exactly what happened,” I muse, sitting back and crossing my arms over my chest, letting my mind wander. “I think somehow that motherfucker figured out what we’ve been doing, and this is his retaliation.” I standup quickly, a light bulb dinging in my brain. I hurry to grab my phone and dial Marcus. I pace my room while it rings, waiting for this turncoat to answer his phone, only to get his obnoxious voicemail.
I toss my phone on my bed again with a huff.
I turn to Morgan, who stands in my doorway looking at me like I’ve lost my mind. “You call him. He always answers when you call.”
She scoffs, crossing her arms at the mention of Marcus. “He’s probably busy jacking himself off or something,” she replies with an air of nonchalance. Her blonde ponytail bobs as she flounces around the room, avoiding my stare. I huff a laugh. We walk back to the kitchen to reconvene at the table.
“So if Kane knows, what next?” Morgan asks, grabbing the peanut butter and bread. She pulls out four slices and plates them. She smothers them with way too much peanut butter, then turns and hands one to me as she retakes her seat opposite me.
“What do you mean?” I reply around an oversized bite of sandwich. The peanut butter sticking to my mouth makes the words come out muffled.
“Cute,” she teases at my full bite. “I mean, do we stop pranking him? Or do we get him back even harder?”
“Of course we get him back. That fucker doesn’t get to win just when he started to play.”
“Or you could talk to him, you know.Have a conversation. I know it sounds wild, but as a rational human, it should be considered,” Morgan suggests, one perfectly manicured eyebrow raised at me.
