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"Yeah," I admitted. "It was weird."
"Sounds like it," she groused. "What happened?"
"Well, I’m still alive."
"Har-Har," she grumbled. "Come on, Savannah. Tell me! You can’t keep shit like that on the downlow."
"That’s exactly where I probably should keep it," I said with a sigh as I reached up and rubbed my tired eyes. "Have you ever looked at someone and felt like you’ve been hit with one of Cupid’s arrows? Like, out of nowhere, all the songs make sense?"
"Songs?"
"Yeah. You know, music?" I mocked. "Every love song ever written somehow resonates where it didn’t before. Have you never felt like that?"
"Not really. I mean, there’s been plenty of guys I want to bang. I don’t think you mean those kinds of songs, though, huh? Less Lizzo and more Carrie Underwood?"
Though I snorted, I said, "Yeah, more Carrie." Agitated, I fiddled with the necklace I wore, a tiny pendant of a paw my dad had bought me when Teabag, my cat, the one he’d bought me to keep me company when I left home and had gone to college, had died. "I was scared at first, but then we went out to dinner and he was different."
"Why did he take you out to dinner?"
"I don’t know. I guess he was interested in me."
I heard the soft noise of her sipping coffee, and then she asked, "You love him now, that’s what you’re saying, right?"
"No. I don’t know what it is. It can’t be that. It takes time for love to grow, doesn’t it?"
She hummed. "Well, I mean, you’re asking the wrong person. I’m not even sure it exists. It’s probably some hormonal wizardry that the doctors figured out how to put into the pill. That damn patriarchy again."
I rolled my eyes. "I’m not on the pill."
"Bullshit.Ain’t on the pill, she says. You get the shot, don’t you?"
I knew I’d pissed her off if she was saying ‘ain’t.’ She worked hard to sound like she fit in her corporate office.
"Yeah, but I wasn’t back then when I first met him." Considering he’d fucked me raw this morning, it was probably for the best I got the shot, now that I thought about it. "So your logic is flawed."
She scoffed. "Maybe they pipe something in the chemtrails."
"Jesus, Jen. What is this? Conspiracy O’Clock?"
"Sorry," she muttered, sounding unapologetic. "Okay, so these feelings, what was it then?"
"Like I wanted to fuck him, and I know he felt the same, but he didn’t. We didn’t. Not then."
"You didn’t screw him back then? Jesus. I never met him before the shooting, but I saw pictures of him. He was hawt."
"He’s hot now!" I defended.
"Yeah, but he has that look on his face. Ya know, like he’s suffering?"
"Because he is?" I grunted. This was exactly the reason why he needed to go to the doctor again. "Well, we didn’t fuck, even though I wanted to, and then he ghosted me.
"I had his phone number, so I called twice just... well, you know his line of work, only he never picked up, then like a week later, it was disconnected. I figured out he was ignoring me and wasn’t just lying in an alleyway somewhere."
"Jackass."
"Yeah," I said softly. "It hurt."
"It usually does."
