Page 10 of Catfish

I sent her one of those for his sake.

Reagan: You on vacation?

Me: I am, don’t ask me where. I don’t want you to show up.

Reagan: You ARE a lawyer.

Me: Those student loans will prove it.

Reagan: I can respect it, just not the choice of football team.

Me: Don’t hold grudges, I’m sure there is something else we can agree on.

Reagan: I’m scared to be disappointed.

Me: You mean like I have been this whole conversation?

Reagan: Owww burn!

Reagan: Need me to up my game?

Me: A tad.

Reagan: Alright, so the Patriots’ stadium is in Massachusetts, and I like the Red Sox.

Me: YOU JUST MADE EVERYTHING WORSE!

Reagan: How can you not like them?! You like the Patriots!

Me: It doesn’t mean I have to like all the teams that reside there!

Reagan: Then, who’s your favorite baseball team?

Me: You don’t want to know.

Reagan: Try me.

Me: It ain’t over ‘till it’s over.

Reagan: You’re a Yankees...fan….

Me: Born and raised.

Reagan: I don’t think we’re meant for each other.

No shit.

Reagan: *download attachment*

Chase’s phone automatically opens it, and I wasn’t ready. My next sip of whiskey probably wasn’t a good idea either because only half of it made it inside my mouth.

The picture is a neon yellow post-it note with the words “Red Sox Forever” scribbled on it, and fuck me—it’s really her.

? The Search — NF ?

I pull off my nude Gucci heels while tossing my phone on my bed. Today was rough, a pain in my ass. The kind of day where everything goes wrong, smoke a pack of cigarettes, and wonder what you did to make shit just fall apart at your feet.

That’s what happened at Jacob Elias’s bar mitzvah tonight.

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