Page 82 of Storm in a Teacup
EMMA: Hi :)
“Got it,” I say.
“Good. About time we took this friendship out of the yoga studio. I gotta check my schedule, but I’ll text you?”
“Sounds good.”
I follow her back to the reception area that is separated from the practice space by a thin, white curtain, and then out the front door. We go our separate ways.
I made a friend. A potential friend. No, an old friend. My ownfriend. Not one of Ben’s friends. The urge to do a little wiggle of a dance in the street nearly gets me.
I’m halfway down the block when my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out. It’s Mel.
I stick in my headphones and answer, “Hello?”
“Hiya, so guess what? I hate the color pink.”
“Pink is one of your wedding colors.”
“I know!” Mel goes into a rant about how she still likes mint, but pink is a horrible choice and she should have gone with cream instead. I attempt to spit reassurances at her. It is far too late to change the colors now, but I avoid saying that.
However, I am distracted when I spot Ben across the street, shopping tote looped around his shoulder, changed from the cycling clothes I saw him in this morning. I offer a timid wave, hoping to mend what I tried to break earlier. I point to my ear to indicate that I am on the phone.
He smiles widely and waves back. Then he makes a circular motion with his finger.
“What?” I mouth back, crossing the street toward him.
He does it again.
Aloud, I say, “I have no idea what you’re trying to say.”
In my ear, Mel says, “That I think Idolike pink.”
I put my fingers on my headphone as I say, “No, sorry, Melly. I ran into Ben. But I will note, I love pink. It’s a fun color to pair with mint. Very Spring-y.”
Ben says, “Give us a twirl. I gave you one this morning.”
In my ear, Mel asks, “What is he saying?”
“He’s objectifying me because I’m wearing leggings,” I answer flatly.
She says, “That’s rude. Did you go to yoga?”
“I did. And it’s okay. I objectified him earlier,” I say, referringto his bike shorts.
Mel says, “Too much information,” as I appease Ben and give him a little spin.
“Happy?” I ask.
“Exceedingly,” he answers, falling into step beside me. I don’t even argue as he begins to walk me home.
“Stop being cute with your boyfriend and focus on me,” Mel says in my ear.
“Sorry,” I say, the wordboyfrienddragging its guilt across my chest.
“So, we think the pink is okay?”
“We think the pink is great.”
