Page 144 of Catfish

“When was it?”

“Today.”

“Fuck.”

“Did you see the flowers?” he asks through furrowed brows. “They were—”

“I don’t fucking know,” I snap, yanking out my phone. “I was holed up in my office all day.”

Pushing papers and being kissed by Reagan like it's just a typical fucking day in my world.

“How in the hell did you forget her birthday, she’s the only person you like,” Chase berates me as if I don’t feel like an asshole already.

I rub my forehead while looking through my appointments in my phone for today. I know I put it here, it’s how I remembered last year.

"Don't sweat it, man, I mean—"

“She probably feels like shit that I forgot about it,” I seize. “I don’t know how I missed it.”

Geezus Christ, I’m an asshole.

"You're busy, I'm sure she's not going to get upset with…" He continues rambling on about shit, but I'm not listening.

I’m becoming my fucking father.

A man who is only worried about himself and his goals instead of also being conscious of the people around who are making it happen. I couldn’t do half of the shit I’ve done without Em. She’s the glue that holds all my shit together.

“I have to call Reagan,” I say out loud.

“Who?”

I ignore him, too pissed off at myself to answer and more anxious to get something planned for Em ASAP.

“Hello?”

“Re—Miss Shelton,” I correct myself. “I need your help.”

“What is it now?” I grit my teeth at the sound of her voice, droning and indifferent. Like we didn’t just make out in my office a few hours ago.

This is so fucked up.

I'm sitting across from my best friend while talking to the woman who thinks I'm him, but she made out with me—lines are being crossed, so many lines.

However, I can’t make myself regret it that much.

“Emmy’s birthday was today, and I—”

“Oh my God, are you serious?” she emits. Her tone immediately changing since it has nothing to do with me anymore.

“Yes,” I deadpan.

"Oh, shit. She wanted to meet up for drinks, and I—I got busy." I grip the handle of my mug and squeeze. Busy can mean so many different things that I dare not divulge into right now.

“Can you get a dinner together or something? I don’t know—anything.”

“How did you forget?”

I look heavenward, tapping my free hand on the table.

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