Page 85 of If Love Had A Manual
I’m two sips into a latte that’s about seventy percent foam and three pages into a paperback I’ve already read twice when my phone buzzes on the coffee shop table.
Wes:Where do we keep the thermometer that works?
It takes me a second.
Me:We? Bold word choice for someone who’s currently parenting solo. It’s my day off, Wesley.
Wes:You reorganized my entire kitchen. That makes this your fault.
Me:Top shelf, blue box.
Wes:Thanks.
Me:You’re welcome. Is Rosie sick? You got man-flu again?
I grin and lean back, the sun warm on my arms, and the distant hiss of the espresso machine provides a sort of meditative white noise.
Wes:We’re both fine. She just feels warm and tried to use the dog bowl as a foot spa.
Me:So… just a typical Tuesday?
Wes:It’s Saturday.
Me:Exactly. I’m glad you noticed. My day off.
Another beat. Then a picture comes through of Rosie on the floor, smiling up at the camera. Milo is wearing her bib.
Me:Well, that’s emotional blackmail. Hey, Rosie Posie.
Wes:She’s going down for a nap. We’re both tired after listening to your podcast.
I nearly snort my latte.
Me:Excuse me? You’re listening on your own now?
Wes:Lena, it’s like crack.
Me:Right? What’s the episode about? I haven’t listened this week.
Wes:Sex club. Wristbands. Mood lighting. Lots of rules. Very efficient, actually.
Me:Thinking of going?
Wes:That’s more Julian’s thing.
Me:Really?
Wes:You have no idea of him.
I laugh loud enough to get a glance from the guy at the next table. I wave an apology and sip more foam.
Me:What do the wristbands mean?
Wes:Green for yes. Yellow for maybe. Red for “don’t even look at me.”
Me:So… you’re a red?
Wes:Very funny, coming from someone who argues with gravity.
