“It was really only a matter of time,” she jokes, coming to sit on the floor across from me with her back leaned against my bed. “But really, what’s going on?”
“I feel like I’m losing it. I did laundry yesterday while you were out, and somehow I’m missing the match to every pair of socks. I can only find one of each kind.” I explain, picking up random socks and showing her.
“What the fuck?” she mirrors my sentiment from earlier.
“I took a nap, and when I went to fold my clothes from the dryer, I didn’t really check. Now they’re missing.”
“Did you check the dryer?” she asks.
“No, Morgan, I just decided to throw out my entire drawer and didn’t check the dryer where I got them from,” I reply sarcastically, rolling my eyes and flinging myself back to starfish on my bedroom floor in the destruction of socks I’ve created.
Suddenly, Morgan breaks out in laughter, and I crack one eye open to stare at her.
“What’s so funny about this situation?” I ask, frustration finally taking over.
“Those losers took them!” she bursts out, bending over with laughter as tears gather in her eyes. “You took his shoelaces, and he took your socks, knowing you can’t not match them!”
Her head is thrown back in laughter, and a chuckle slips out of me. It is actually a good one.
“You know how we should get them back?” she muses, looking at me with a mischievous glint in her eye.
“How?” I ask with one eye closed and my hand thrown dramatically over my head, not ready to let go of the pity party I’m throwing myself.
“We go on a double date,” she suggests, smiling wide at me with a manic look in her eye.
“No,” I answer, leaving no room for argument. From what I know of Morgan, no isn’t an answer she accepts easily. She’s always had a knack for getting me to do things outside my comfort zone.
“Come on, what else do you have to do besides sulk in the house for another weekend?” she prods, hitting my foot with her hand to get me to open my eyes and look at her.
“I’m not sulking,” I groan.
“I’m sorry, I meant pouting,” she snickers and hits my foot again.
“I’m not pouting either.”
“Okay, and what would you call staying inside all weekend and watching back-to-back rom-coms on the couch?”
“Taking care of my mental health, obviously.”
“What would be good for your mental health is getting out and meeting people. Not sitting at home all alone because your ex—maybe not ex-boyfriend—hasn’t reached out since he ate you out like a Thanksgiving meal in his childhood bedroom and told you he was still in love with you.”
“He did not say he was still in love with me.”
“Sure, Jan,” she replies, making aBrady Bunchreference and getting a laugh out of me. It’s something we binge-watched together in high school after diving into older sitcoms.
“I don’t know Morgan, I don’t think I’m ready.”
“You never know if you don’t try, and you can’t not live because you’re scared,” she reasons.
I know she’s right. I can feel the truth in her words andhow worried she is about me. The indecision swirls in my head as I sit here.
“I’m just not sure about a date. I don’t think I’m ready to meet someone else.” I hesitate while picking up some socks in front of me and tossing them softly back in the drawer.
“Then just come out, no expectations. Meet him, and if you like him, maybe go out with him again. Or don’t. I just want you to get out. I hate seeing you sitting here just waiting around for him to be ready,” she states, grabbing my hands and looking into my eyes—her brown ones on my blue. The socks are scattered around us, but with my best friend in front of me, I feel okay for the first time in days.
“Okay, I’ll go, with no expectations. But I will only meet at The Grunge if Kane isn’t working,” I relent as the brightest smile appears back on her face.
“Yay!” she yells. “OMG, this is going to be so much fun! And the guy I’m meeting with is yummy. I met him at a LANY concert last week in Nashville, and they’re willing to drive out here just to take us out.” She bounces up and down, her blonde ponytail swinging with the movement.
