“She died in front ofWheel of Fortune.”
“Her favorite show, and imagine finally buying a vowel while God welcomes you into heaven?”
“We sure that’s where she went? She yelled at small children and dogs.”
“She was half blind, she thought they were rats, you know this.” Ezra argued. “Anyway, have you considered just lying on your therapy intake form like the rest of us going through nervous breakdowns?”
I stare back at the wall, the same one that held a giant mural my aunt painted at the age of twenty—many a men have offered to buy that wall, mainly because it’s a naked self-portrait and Aunt Trudence had a banging body back in the day, but that’s besides the point. A nice potted plant with strategic positioning covers the necessary bits, unless I forget to water it then you have dead grass where…living things should be. The mural wasthe one thing she made me promise not to sell in her will, so naked picture of great aunt in her glory days, stays.
“I’ve been on a cancellation list for my new therapist for eight months.” I grumbled, getting us back on track.
“Maybe they smell your desperation for Adderall.” He sing songs.
I violently throw a piece of licorice behind me and glare. “I’m diagnosed, you ass!”
He sighed. “Then drink two Monsters a day like a real American and stop complaining, Harper. Every time you complain a butterfly loses its wings.”
“Not true.” I shuddered. “And drinking that much caffeine is how people end up thinking‘fleek rizzzzz’is a love language.”
His lip twitched—he’s trying not to laugh. Wow, I almost got an honest-to-God-Ezra-Park-laugh. It’s at times like that I knew there was a higher power.
But as soon as he realizes he’s about to crack, he returns to his typing while I stare at the board like it holds the secrets to the universe.
He narrowed it even further from the top twenty, when did he even do that? Was he multi-tasking this entire time? Five exes. Five photos. One 2:03AM screenshot that’s been reposted more than my graduation photo. Look mom, I’m famous!
I study the whiteboard again. “This is content,” I whispered, trying to manifest confidence.
A chair screeches behind me. Movement. He was on the move. Red Alert. Red Alert. “No.” Ezra said in a flat voice. “This is chaos. And you’re ignoring the spreadsheet. Again.”
“Don’t act like the spreadsheet has feelings,” I muttered, God knows it probably had more than him. Would it kill him to pretend?
I didn’t bother turning. Ezra was emotionally allergic to eye contact unless he was winning an argument or ordering tacos orpizza or any sort of food really. His DoorDash game was hella strong.
He exhaled like I’d personally offended every app on his laptop. “It has structure, Harper. Which is more than I can say for your love life.”
The printer in the corner whirred to life like it was waking up from a long Ezra coded lecture.
Ezra groaned. “Printer’s possessed again, this is why we can’t have nice things. Maybe if you didn’t set your hair dryer on it, you know electronics are sensitive.”
“That makes one of us.”
I could feel his glare in my direction, but I ignored it.
I stared harder at the whiteboard.
When he didn’t respond, or even snort, I glanced in his direction. “No one prints anymore,” I mumble to myself. “But people always need to dry their hair and it’s convenient.” I looked him up and down, my gaze rested on his messy mop of hair. “Most people use hair dryers at least, I imagine you’d choose the printer every time.”
He flipped me off and walked over anyway, muttering about paper jams and cursed ink gods, and came back with a small stack of freshly printed pages. Without ceremony, he started taping them beneath the whiteboard like a full-fledged wall fromDateline.
“You’re too good at that.” I sighed. “Should I be concerned?”
He ignored me. “Do you want me to read them out loud,” he deadpanned, “or does that make it morereal?”
I swallowed. “It makes it more real, but it’s best to just yank the band-aid off, right?”
He tapped his chin then reached over and handed me the bag of chocolate-covered almonds. He followed that by cracking open a nearby Monster like we were settling in for a horror movie and not my personal romantic exorcism.
“Ex number one,” Ezra pointed at the first sheet. “I like to call himThe Felon.”