Page 18 of A Very Happy Easter

“Why are you smiling?” Salma asked.

“Oh, no reason. Just a joke.”

“What’s the joke about?”

“Avocados.”

“But you hate avocados.”

“‘Hate’ is such a strong word. I don’t mind guacamole, as long as it comes with a taco and preferably a margarita.”

Which I drank only at home because the idea of being tipsy in public gave me anxiety. The last time I got drunk at a party, I’d come to my senses to find Neil Short thrusting away on top of me, and thanks to the alcohol and who knew what else coursing through my veins, I’d been too weak to push him away.

“So I should order tacos for book club this month?”

“Sounds like a great idea.”

Heath

Why is there a box of avocados on my desk?

Me

The toast part didn’t arrive yet?

Heath

That’s a joke, right?

Right?

Me

Uh…

I’d never had a thing like this before. And I was calling it a thing because honestly, I hadn’t the faintest clue what was going on. What was it called when you sent someone you’d met twice memes and dumb jokes, and in return, he made you smile at inopportune moments? I only knew that I liked it.

And I had no idea whether Heath was genuinely fond of avocado toast, but on the off chance he was, I thought it would be fun to send him a box of organic avocados and a dozen rustic sourdough loaves. But they were coming from different suppliers. Part deux should be arriving right about…

Heath

Holy guacamole, there’s bread everywhere.

Twenty colleagues are staring at me expectantly.

Me

So give them an avocado each?

Heath

They’re looking for an explanation, not a snack.

Me

Then I got nothing.

Nothing but a grant proposal form to fill in, a presentation to rehearse, a budget to review, six phone calls to make, a client to visit, correspondence to read, and website updates to plan. Plus my housekeeper was on holiday this week, so I figured I should run the vacuum cleaner around at some point before she came back, and I also needed to order food because I was the world’s worst cook.

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