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MEGAN
The summer heatwas doing nothing for me. Having grown up in a literal desert wasteland, heat has never bothered me. But right now, I’m beyond over the current heatwave. I sit with my legs wide open in front of a box fan because I can’t handle the sticky-slick sensation of sweat along my elastic line and beneath my belly.
And I’m only twenty-two weeks along. There’s still another eighteen weeks of this left, which is like four months or seven hundred days, and I’m really wishing I had a calculator because my math makes me want to cry.
Which would make for the third time I’ve cried today. The first was when Ainsley ate the last pineapple popsicle and blamed it on Hot Sasquatch. Who is currently to blame for at least twelve other mysteries around the house.
The second was when I saw a squirrel fight another squirrel and the one that was attacked just sort of sat in the tree next to my window, cradling its own hand and breathing really heavy. I was about to call 911 when it ran away.
But right now, I just feel hot and bloated and pathetic. Not the least because it’s taken every bit of willpower not to call Derek. He has central air conditioning in his condo. His mostly empty, soulless, lifeless condo. His cold condo. With those hardwood floors and views of the Fremont Bridge and Mount St. Helens. And his fancy ice maker.
Screw this.
ME:What is your thermostat set at?
DEREK:70
My ovaries literally drool.
DEREK:Are you asking to come over?
ME:Are you home?
DEREK:I’m at work
Shit. That could mean anything. He could be on campus or on the ice or in the gym. But if he’s on literal ice and hasn’t asked me to join him, he’s officially dead to me. Although I’d like to think that if he was on the road, he would have mentioned that by now.
DEREK:It’s 95 in the shade, princess. If you’re hot, go to my place
I’m so hot. But now I’m even hotter and I don’t think it has anything to do with the temperature outside. I don’t want to freeload off of him, even if he is my maybe-boyfriend-slash-baby-daddy. Midge says I should use him for whatever I want to use him for, and that he should be grateful for whatever I want to take. I love her, but I don’t think this is in the context she meant it.
This feels extra. Like, giving someone a key and an extra drawer, and judging by the way his bachelor pad hasn’t changed in even the slightest since I’ve met him, I don’t want to push too hard.
But I also don’t want him to think I’m only using him for his air conditioning.
DEREK:I know you’re not just using me for my A/C
Whoa. It’s as if he can read my mind.
DEREK:It’s my dick, right?
ME:It’s definitely not your decor
DEREK:Are you saying you don’t like minimalism?
ME:Oh, I like minimalism. I also like furniture.
DEREK:And I like you on my sofa. And my bed…
ME:Too bad you don’t have a dining table. You might like me on that too.
DEREK:Devil woman…
ME:I’m great on an ottoman.
DEREK:Fuck. I’m sending a car to pick you up right now. You better not start something without me…
ME: ;)
