Page 140 of Snap Shot

Gym Guy:WMTCOAEYOUYCIMM?

Me:No, thanks.

Gym Guy:Please? It's been four days since I tasted that pussy and I'm fucking dying.

Too bad it's out of order and doesn't flutter at the suggestion.

Me:Maybe another day.

Gym Guy:What's going on? You've been ignoring me all afternoon.

Me:You don't wanna know.

Gym Guy:I absolutely do want to know.

His niceness fuels my irritation. I mash out a harsh reply.

Me:Please leave me alone.

The text showsreadbut there's no response. Instead, he calls.

“What?” No use hiding the anger. I asked him to leave me alone and he did the exact opposite.

“Indi.”

I don't care for his stern tone.

“I thought we were past this. You can talk to me—”

“Okay, you know what?” I snap. “Let's talk about it. I've had unbearably long days at the office and I'm fuckingexhausted.” My voice trembles with rage and disappointment through the phone. “I tried cooking my favorite meal because I miss my family and totally ruined the bhinda nu shaak I desperately wanted for dinner and would’ve been the only thing I would've eaten all day. And I'm bloated like a scared frog because my cramping, swollen uterus is on a murderous rampage.Also, I'm out of tampons, my boobs feel like lead and my lower back may never be right again. Is that what you wanted me to talk about?”

A silent pause follows my rant.

“Poor pussy,” Landon says with a tut. “Want me to come over and kiss it better?”

My jaw hinges shut through gritting teeth. It's like he wasn't listening. “Goodbye, Landon.”

“Aw, don't be like that. I was joking—”

The next breath is long and harrowed. I rub the throbbing space between my brows. “I'm fine, okay? I need some space. I'mfine. We'll talk later this week.”

“Later this week? I'm traveling again on Saturday.”

“Sorry. We'll text.”

Ending the call before he can say anything else is the best option. He's already seen me at so many embarrassing and absurd moments, but surely this version of me will have him running for the hills.

In an attempt to redirect my unstable emotions, I shroud myself in a blanket burrito and plop down on the couch. A syndicated version ofThe Officeappears in my mindless channel surfing. Kelly Kapoor's fatigued face as she explains her juice cleanse hits hard.

As the episode ends, the kitchen trash can gives up on life, no longer able to sustain the weight of its contents. It keels over and spills three-day-old takeout sauce onto the floor.

Don't cry, Indi. Clean it up, throw it out and go to bed.

I go to the door, looking and feeling like the tied garbage bag in hand. When I yank it open, Landon stands in the hallway, a ready fist in the air about to knock. His arms overflow with a million brown paper bags.

“Hi.” He hands over a fragrant bouquet of peonies. The white ones. My favorite. They smell incredible.

The white trash bag lands on the floor. “What are you doing here?” I wave him in, shutting the door behind him. “I told you, I need—”

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