Page 51 of Fun Together
The right color for me right now. That makes me feel better, like this doesn’t have to be permanent. But it’s a step in the right direction toward making some sort of change in my space and theEnvironmentalpart of my list feels less daunting.
But I really hope I end up liking this color once I live in it for a while. “I don’t know if I can ever look at a paint roller again.” It took us three coats before it stopped looking like a recent murder scene and the likelihood that I’ll be able to lift my arms tomorrow is looking slim. “I just need to put together that dresser and I’ll have a real, grown-up bedroom.”
“You’re on your own, there. I don’t do furniture assembly.” She rolls over onto her stomach and props her chin in her hands. “This is why you need to start dating.”
“So I’ll have my own personal Task Rabbit?”
“Exactly. Let’s discuss prospects.”
I dig my phone out from underneath the covers. “I’m starving. You want to order food?”
“Yes, please. Has anything more happened with barista guy yet?” I should have never told Rett about meeting Cameron, because now she won’t leave me alone about pursuing something with him. She even said that Eli was her new favorite person for making me talk to him.
“Cameron? I don’t think that’s a good idea. Pizza or Thai?”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know . . . don’t shit where you eat. Or fuck where you drink coffee. Or something.”
“Let’s do pizza.” She grabs her phone. “That’s dumb. Give me two seconds.” A few seconds later she shows me her screen. “Is this him?”
“Yep, that’s him.”
She presses play on his latest post, a video of him standing in a dark kitchen.
There are a few things I notice immediately about this video. First, he’s wearing an apron and nothing else. Second, he’s surrounded by white tapered candles that are dripping wax down onto the stainless-steel countertop. And third, he appears to be demonstrating how to create some kind of latte art.
“Well, I’m intrigued,” Rett says.
The video goes on to show him pouring the hot milk into the cup. He begins to make a squiggly, sort of ruffled shape with the foam. At first, I think he’s making a flower. But as he finishes the design, I think I must be mistaken, and this is some kind of inkblot test situation.
“Is that a . . . ?” I ask.
“A foamy vulva? Yeah, I think it is.”
Then, it jumps to a close-up shot of his hand caressing the rim of the cup until he slowly runs his middle finger down the center of the design.
“Is he . . . ?”
“Stroking the foamy vulva? Yeah, I think he is.”
“Please stop saying ‘foamy vulva’.”
But it’s not over yet, because the video ends with a shot of him running his tongue across the surface to lick up the foam before looking up to smirk at the camera.
“Message him,” Rett says.
“I’m sorry, did we not just watch the same thing?”
“I watched a very well-crafted video with some lovely cinematography.”
It takes a single second of eye contract between us, and we both burst out laughing while we watch the video again. There’s something weirdly fascinating about it, in a car crash kind of way. You can’t seem to stop watching.
“I’m serious,” she says. “Go out with him.”
“I can’t go out with a guy who makes latte art thirst traps. Now I’m going to have to find a new coffee shop to go to, as it is.”
“He’s perfect for your sex need!” She holds her phone up to show where she’s paused the video, Cameron’s face filling the frame as looks passionately down at his frothy creation.
