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Even clicking through my emails sets off little pangs of pain. I wish my apartment had a tub, so I could take a nice long soak after work, but I guess I’ll just have to settle for a hot shower.
Maybe Cole could come over and massage my shoulders.
Is that what dating people do? That’s not solely in the realm of boyfriend-ness is it?
A sigh drifts from me. Better not slip into the gray area. I’ll find a way to massage my own shoulders.
As if he knew I was thinking about him, Cole’s name appears on my phone screen above a text.
Cole:U work tomorrow?
My tired brain can’t grasp why Cole might be asking this, and I figure the best way to find out is to answer.
Summer:Nope. Library is closed for the next two days.
Cole:U have family plans?
Summer:Later in the evening. Nothing during the day tho
Cole:Early dinner at my Dad’s house?
My phone lets out a clank as I drop it on my desk. I get up, walk out of my office, scurry down the hall, push into the bathroom, turn on the faucet, and splash cold water in my face. When I look at myself in the mirror, I realize how bad of a decision this was when black streaks drip from my not-waterproof mascara-covered lashes.
“Damn it.”
Using a stiff paper towel, I’m able to dry off and clean myself up. All of this does a decent job at pushing away the tiredness of my long pre-holiday shift. And in the time I take for myself, I’m able to reason that I misread his text.
Sexy, tattooed, bad boys do not invite their fuck buddies to Christmas Eve dinner with their families. Doesn’t happen. Eight hours without a lunch break short-circuited my ability to comprehend the written word. Or the typed word.
I start back to my office, but I’m waylaid by no less than three mini-crises.
A patron racked up a thirty dollar fine on a book they claimed to have returned months ago.
A cluster of computers decided to stop connecting to the Wi-Fi.
All the stalls in the men’s bathroom mysteriously ran out of toilet paper.
By the time I make it back to my office, an hour has passed, and I’ve completely forgotten about the text from Cole that I misread. That is until I notice I have another message from him.
Cole:No big. Forget I mentioned it.
I struggle to focus, opening up our exchange to decipher the meaning of his text.
My tired brain didn’t misread his first question.
Cole invited me to spend Christmas Eve dinner with his family.
And I ghosted him!
Panicked, I dial Cole’s number, silently praying he doesn’t send me to voicemail.
“Summer?”
“All the toilet paper disappeared!”
“What?”
“And there was fine drama, and the Wi-Fi was possessed by demons!” I pace around my tiny office, punching some of my throw pillows as I pass. One has a reindeer stitched on the front and jingle bells on the edges that rattle when my fist hits its fat cushiony-ness.
