Page 51 of Now That We Don't Talk

“Sure,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant.

“How about now?” he asks.

Now?I look down at my oversized pajamas and cup of tea.

“Um, I’m already in my pajamas. Once I get comfortable, I have no plans of going out again.”

“So? I can come over there, then you don’t have to change.”

Are we really having this conversation? Admittedly I’m torn—there is a part of me that wants to see him.

“Why don’t we plan something for next week?”

“I can bring ice cream,” he adds, ignoring my suggestion.

Oh, now he’s really going above and beyond. How can I say no to ice cream?

“Fine. I’ll send you my address.”

“Cool. See you soon.”

He ends the call before I have a chance to say another word. I don’t move for a few seconds. What just happened? Mac used his charm and ice cream to secure an invite. I don’t recognize myself anymore. After a few minutes of replaying the entire conversation, I send him my address.

I usually keep my house very clean, so I don’t feel the need to rush around putting things away. Plus, it’s Mac—I have no desire to try to impress him. I continue to sip my tea as my mind races. What will we talk about? We could barely stand to be around each other only a few days ago, and now we’re hanging out on a random Saturday night. I guess the one thing Mac and I have in common is we’d do anything for our friends.

After about thirty minutes my doorbell rings. My heart is racing as I move to answer the door.

I open it to find Mac standing in my doorway holding two shopping bags.

“I come in peace,” he announces, holding up the bags.

I laugh. “It’s a good thing, or else I’d ask you to leave the ice cream and go.”

I hold open the door to allow him inside.

“I get it,” he says. “I think I went a little overboard. I didn’t know what flavor you like, so I bought a variety.”

I lead him to the kitchen, and he sets the bags on the island.

"I like any flavor except strawberry," I say.

"Are you serious? Strawberry is the best." he exclaims.

"Just one more thing we don't agree on. Shocking," I reply.

He chuckles as he unloads the bags. Wow. He must’ve grabbed every available flavor—plus chocolate sauce, caramel sauce, and whipped cream. I guess we’re having a sundae bar. Life sure is full of surprises.

I get bowls and spoons out of the cabinets while he opens all the cartons. Neither of us says anything about why he’s here, but for some reason it’s not awkward. As soon as we’re sitting on the couch with our bowls, I bring up the elephant in the room.

“So, you’re in my house eating ice cream,” I mutter.

He looks around. “Yep. Your place is nice.”

“Thank you…”

“I appreciate you inviting me over,” he says.

“Well you sort of invited yourself. I only agreed to it after you mentioned ice cream.”

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