Page 79 of Meet Cute Reboot

I need to think this through, that’s what I need to do. I need to develop a clear exit plan, a foolproof evacuation of my Benjamins from her pockets.

I continue systematically clearing the garden, removing thorny plant after thorny plant while I plan my escape from Macy. Soon, I’m left with a big bad beast that’s managed to grow to thigh height and is in the process of going to seed. Its thorns are the length of two thumbnails. Impalement would cause serious blood leakage and anguish. The sucker has to go. I dig around the root, discouraged to find it goes deeper than I imagined.

Korg comes over and takes a sniff. I wish he’d lend his paws to the effort, but he only digs when I tell him not to, and always in the middle of the yard. Luckily, the exposed root doesn’t have thorns, so I grab on tight and pull. I put my weight into it, wiggling the plant side to side to loosen more dirt. With one final heave, something lets go. The momentum from my own strength sends me tumbling onto my back, ginormous weed in hand like it’s a prized state fair entry.

Korg makes quick work of my face, licking my forehead and then my cheeks, and then giving me mouth-to-mouth.

“Korg! No!” I roll over to my side and wipe my lips with the back of my hand. Gritty dirt smudges my face. I probably look like a coal miner. But my prize distracts me. The entire weed, tap root and all, along with a generous clod of dirt, hangs loosely in my hand.

I had no idea dirt could be so rewarding. Mom never let me play in it growing up. Something about microbes and tapeworms and ants. She let cans of potatoes sit on the shelf for ten years past their expiration dates, but if I came in with dirt under myfingernails after frolicking at the park, it was straight to the sink with soap and a brush.

I stand and throw the big bad beast onto my pile of extracted sticker bushes and anchor my hands on my hips while surveying my work. Loose piles of black dirt dot the garden everywhere, full of microbes and nutrients that will feed the seeds I’ll eventually throw down, turning each little promise into a budding plant with the help of some rain and a bit of luck. Fresh starts, every one of them.

This is much better than sitting in front of my laptop for virtual meeting after virtual meeting.

Satisfied with my work, I return the spade and gloves to the shed and call Korg to my side. Together we head into the kitchen. I pour him a fresh bowl of cold water and then I go up to shower. I’m in my birthday suit when my phone buzzes.

I see Cassie’s name and fumble for my phone and a towel. Something about naked-texting feels inappropriate. With towel cinched around my waist, I swipe up and read Cassie’s text.

We hit 5K today, her text reads.

I drop the lid on the toilet and perch on my porcelain throne. Dull, white tiles frame the bathroom. The dingy, mildewed grout begs me to put it out of its misery with a sledgehammer. I’m too busy marveling over Cassie’s text to pay attention.

This is the first time she’s texted me for reasons other than logistics. Clearly, she wants me to celebrate with her, so I type, carefully,That’s cool.I stare at my response for a moment and decide it’s stupid. I decide to use my big words instead:That’s fabulous.

That’s no good either. So, I decide on:Seriously?

It’s a question which should prompt her to text back.

Yep, Cassie texts.Sorry. We might have to livestream more dates. Instagram loved your octopus.

Our octopus, I correct.

Cassie:

What did they think of your red slimy worm?I prod, trying to keep the conversation going.

Cassie:

I scroll up a few lines and consider Cassie’s comment about more livestreaming. I hope she doesn’t mean our “date” later this week, which we haven’t officially marked on our calendars. I decide to take a chance.

We need to keep our research session between you and me, tho, no prying eyes. If they want to learn about my haunted house, they’ll have to pay for the tour.

When I’m done writing, I reread it and hit send.

Dots loop across my phone for a good minute.

Definitely, she finally responds.

Why did it take her so long to type one word? It’s a strong word though, decisive, firm. No livestream. We both agree.

I’ll make time on Friday, she texts.

You can make time?? What kind of sorcery is that? Does it require a cauldron of rare forest herbs?

Cassie:

Eye of salamander and heart of crickets, she adds.