Page 56 of 13 Rules For Fantastic Phone Sex

“Maybe a bit of relief? ‘I haven’t met the right one’ sounds so much better than ‘I’m a complete failure.’”

“Reframing is helpful for sure, but I know there’s someone who doesn’t need you to change a thing, someone who believes you’re perfect the way you are, waiting for you. I guarantee it. I bet you ten thousand dollars,” I say with total confidence.

Because it’s already true.

It’s me.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

HENRY

“DON’T TALK JUST KISS” — RIGHT SAID FRED

“There needs to be a playlist where I can place music without threats of violence, but you’re still friend-contract-obligated to listen at least once.”

“Of course.” I love how Kait and I share music. We’re a family on my Spotify account, which makes me feel some kind of way I don’t want to examine too closely. “Fine. I agree to a mandatory listening playlist, but please be kind. No intentionally irritating music selections, please.”

“Perfect, because I already created it and started with a song for you, that is, of course, British. It’s a catchy tune from the guys who wrote that old song ‘I’m Too Sexy.’ Great to start your day.”

I groan. She never lets things just be easy.

“Will having this new playlist satisfy you and prevent any duets with, say, Sir Paul McCartney from appearing on my playlists?”

She mumbles something, and I know there’s more suffering to be found in my playlists.

We’ve talked a lot the last few weeks. More than usual. She’s the one person I know I can talk to and not feel judged, which absolutely encourages me to be open with her. When I have something weighing on me, she’s the first person I turn to, not Julian, not my sister. Kait, every time.

“Kait, what if a woman at your job quits or gets fired? What happens?”

“She’s not on the list of people you can talk to anymore,” she responds, matter-of-fact. “People are always coming and going, graduating and whatnot.”

“What about her callers? What happens to those guys?” Asking for a friend.

“We matchmake with another girl.” She says it as though it’s no big deal, while my heart is hammering away at the thought. “Some guys are picky about who they talk to, but most aren’t. Even the persnickety ones usually make do with someone new.”

That’s what she says. What I hear is that one day soon, she’ll leave for grad school, and Hunter will tell me she’s no longer with the company. Gone, without even saying goodbye. I don’t want to contemplate my life without her. Lonely again, but this time, I’d know the difference. Ignorance is bliss.

Would she slip away one day, or would she secretly give me her number? Would I magically get a call from a different 614 number? I scoff at my line of thinking.

“Okay, if you could look five years into the future, what would you want to see?” Subtle, Henry, very subtle.

“That’s easy. My friends and family are happy and well and taking pleasure in their lives.”

“What about you, in particular?” I ask, trying to pretend this is one of our normal conversations where we ask each other a random assortment of questions. “What do you hope for, what makes you feel, you know, like a lucky man?”

“I’m a perfect size six, effortlessly maintained while eating anything and everything I want, my boobs are super perky, and my IQ has gone up thirty points. My dishes are always clean and put away, and my laundry is magically always folded. I’m independently wealthy and have a winning lottery ticket in my pocket, but I don’t know it yet.” She pauses, then, in a more serious tone, says, “For real? Done with grad school and working with no student loans, that’s the big dream. I’d be afraid to ask for more than that.”

I require details. Can I be in her life in some capacity?

“Henry, if I didn’t do this job anymore, what would you want?” I’d like her to stop reading my mind for a few minutes. That would be a great start.

“I don’t want you to introduce me to someone else.”

“Okay then.” Her voice has a sudden chill to it.

I’m distracted, but the cold tone gets my attention. I’ve hurt her feelings, and now I feel like an ass, so I make it up to her with her favorite thing: the truth. “What I want is for you to give notice at your job, and one minute after your two weeks are finished, I want my phone to ring, and you say, ‘I’ll see you in six hours.’”

I pause. These are the words of a delusional caller. I’m sure I sound completely unhinged, but I don’t stop. She values honesty. “You’d tell me where and when to meet you and how you’ll permit me to buy you dinner or coffee or something.”