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I’ve tried with men.
And yes, I’ve tried with my good old hand.
Nothing. Nada. Zilch.
She grimaces, pretending not to notice my lame-ass lie. “That’s great, Av. But hey, I did a thing!” she exclaims, leaning closer.
“What’s that?”
“I placed a Craigslist ad. You know, for a guy,” she says.
My heart thumps against my chest and my morning coffee burns in my stomach. “A guy for you, Cami? Or for me?”
As if I don’t know the answer.
She rolls her eyes with a bighuffand shows me her wedding ring. “I’m married, in case you forgot, silly.”
“I didn’t forget, but you alwaysarecomplaining about Steve.”
You never really know about people.
She sighs impatiently, like I’m a dunce for even asking. “I did it for you, Ava. I mean, I did it a little for me too. I get to havesomeexcitement in my life, right? You know, as a married woman and all.”
Please, no. Just let this be a joke.
I want to be angry. I do. But I know Cami’s well-intended, even if she wants to vicariously live through me and besides, I have to admit she might be on to something. But I won’t let her off the hook that easily.
“I kind of can’t believe you did that, Cam. I mean, I was considering your suggestion and all, but I thought I’d have input. You know, some warning, a heads up. Or something,” I huff. “We should have talked about this first.”
She blinks at me like she was expecting a thank you. Or a pint of blood. Or my firstborn child.
“Cam, you know what kind of people lurk on Craigslist. I mean, the dating apps are bad, but that site is even worse. Why didn’t we just try a dating site?”
She flips her hair back off her shoulders. “Couple reasons. First, time is of the essence here. You don’t have time to do all that swipe right, swipe left bullshit, then chat with a guy for weeks, then maybe meet him and find out whether he’s a dud or not. Second, Craigslist is free. The dating apps are not.”
Ah. Cami, being practical. Don’t see that every day.
She sighs. “It seemed like a good idea at the time. But don’t worry. I already took the post down, after we got a bunch of responses,” she says, like she’s waiting for me to tell her she did good.
Before I can ramp up my scolding, because the more I think about it the more annoyed I am, Lana swans into my already crowded cube with her typical air of nonchalance.
We’re so crammed in we’re practically kissing each other.
“Darlings,” Lana says, pushing a Marilyn Monroe style curl off her forehead, “I’m so happy with my anniversary issue column. I just had to share my joy about it, and about being so far ahead of deadline for a change.”
She closes her eyes and presses her fingers together as if in prayer.
She should be praying. She’s never met a deadline in her life.
Cami smirks, annoyed at the interruption. “What column? The one on bookbags or something?”
Lana sucks a long draw of air into her nose, shooting Cami the stink eye. “It’s abouthandbags, Cam. For the anniversary issue all about ‘firsts.’ Ya know,” she says, gesturing in my direction, “Ava’s first O, my first designer handbag…”
Cami nods. “Right, right. So, you’re done, then? It’s good?”
Lana pauses for a moment to compose herself. “So. Good.” She stares dreamily across the office. “This assignment has made me think back to a lover from long ago…”
Here we go.
