Page 79 of Friendshipped
Yes, they might lock me up for assault, but I know the Sheriff and I bet Memaw would post bail when I explained how Meg was trying to fuse herself with Trevor’s arm.
I’d explain in court how I was defending my property. Trevor’s my best friend, after all, and Meg is attempting to steal him. It’s an open and shut case of breaking and entering. She should be put in jail, not me. I should make a citizen’s arrest. I bet Judge Judy would rule in my favor.
Either that or she’d send me to Doctor Phil to work out my obvious numerous issues when it comes to the crush I have on my best friend.
We drive into town and Meg squeals.
“Oooh! I missed being home. It’s been forever since I’ve been to Red, White, Blue and Corn Too!”
Don’t even. It’s the name of our street fair and fireworks event that’s the apex of our Independence Day celebration. Meg’s enthusiasm should be contagious, but it’s having the opposite effect on me. I feel like asking Trevor to give me a ride home because I don’t feel so well.
Trevor finds parking in the lot behind the old hardware store right off Main. I unbuckle like I’m in a fire drill and exit the car for a gasp of oxygen. Being in the car with the two of them felt suffocating.
I don’t know how long I can stay in the same town as Meg—especially with a front-row seat to her wooing Trevor one batted eyelash at a time.
29
Trevor
From my desk, I can hear Lexi humming a Jonas Brothers song to herself. She moves from humming to singing at a somewhat low volume. She’s singing the song of a man completely taken by a woman.
She’s basically singing the anthem of my heart. I wish I could hop out of my swivel chair, walk over to her and sing the lyrics right along with her to make her realize how good she and I could be together.
I wonder if she’s even aware she’s serenading our whole department right now. Her volume has ratcheted up incrementally and she seems adorably oblivious.
I stare at my computer screen trying to make sense of the email Jeanette just forwarded me. My mind drifts to Meg. She’s been around every corner and at every event lately. She’s inserting herself into my life and I have completely mixed feelings about it.
I have warmed up a little to her since our welcome back date night, but it’s clear I never want to be anything more than a friend to her.
She’s a great second-runner-up, but in matters of the heart, there’s first place and there’s everyone who isn’t first place. Meg’s return has only heightened my conviction that Lexi’s it for me.
I reread the scathing email Jeanette forwarded from one of our readers.
The review by Trevor MacIntyre of Cowshed Burgers was one of the worst pieces of journalism ever to be printed.
I’ve been eating Cowshed for years.
Their burgers are tender, juicy and flavorful. The fries are made fresh on site and have plenty of salt despite what Mr. MacIntyre said. Their shakes are not watery, as was mentioned in the smear piece put out by the Tribune.
We Ohioans need to stick together. Those of us living along this section of I-70 have long loved our Cowshed. Mr. MacIntyre lost a fanbase when he attacked one of our favorite burger places.
Sincerely,
Craving Cowshed
The writer of this letter knows my name but won’t give theirs. I sigh. One of the perils of being the food critic is people getting up in arms about their favorite places to eat. A bad review feels like you insulted their mother.
Hate mail comes in every so often when I say something a reader doesn’t agree with. It’s never guaranteed what Jeanette will do in response, even though she usually has my back.
I get up to refill my coffee, Lexi’s wrapping up the Jonas Brother’s song and has now broken out in an Ed Sheeran song about dancing in the grass and kissing slowly. She’s killing me one song at a time.
I walk into the break room. Three circular tables fill the room and there’s also this couch no one ever uses pushed back against the far wall. It’s grey and looks stiff enough to be sufficiently uncomfortable.
That sofa probably serves as Jeanette’s way of feeling like she provided a sofa for the break room without facilitating the possibility of any of us actually taking time away from our jobs to relax. That couch basically screams,Get back to work!
I’m carrying my mug that says,You Don’t Have to Be Crazy to Work Here. We Will Train You.I set it on the speckled white Formica counter and fill it with hours-old coffee.
Stepping over to the box of donuts, I lift the lid. Someone tore the cream-filled maple bar in half. And someone else tore at the bear claw. I work with barbarians. I shut the lid and turn. Jeanette’s standing in the doorway.
