Page 89 of Never With You
“How did you even get in the room? I locked the door from the inside.”
“What do you mean? I was already in the room. After my run, I came back here and took a dip in the pool.”
“You were already here?”
“Yes.”
“So I locked youin,notout?”
“That’s correct.” His smile is more smug than it should be. “I couldn’t hear the shower or anything because I had my AirPods in.”
“You swam with your AirPods in?” I fold my arms, not believing his story. “How convenient.”
“I wasn’tswimming.I was just hanging out in the pool. You can try to blame me all you want, but I was here first, and you’re the one who failed to check outside before stripping down naked. Not to mention, the whole reason why you’re in my room is because you forgot to put your name on the hotel list.”
Yes, I’ve made many mistakes.
It’s just irritating having Nate point them out to me.
“Whatever.” I drop my arms and walk back inside. “I’m done with the bathroom, so you can go take a shower now.”
While gathering my makeup, I notice a tampon box on the bathroom counter. My jaw hardens as I pick it up and march into the closet where Nate is sifting through his suitcase.
“What’s this?” I hold the box up.
He barely glances at me. “I would think it’s self-explanatory.”
“Why is it here?”
“I told you I was going to the gift shop and that I’d get somebasics. Just in case.”
My eyes turn into tiny, little daggers. “In case of what?”
“You know.” He shrugs. “In case you need them.”
If it weren’t for the shower incident five minutes ago, maybe I could control my anger, but not now. I open the box and grab a handful of tampons. One by one, I fire them at him like they’re bullets.
“It’s not okay to make PMS jokes,” I say while throwing them. “It’s lazy misogyny!”
He holds his hands up, trying to ward off the Playtex rockets. “Lazy misogyny? What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about how you think it’s funny to make jokes about my period to frame me as an irrational, too-emotional, moody woman you have to put up with at work.”
“I don’t do that.”
“Yes, you do. There are jokes about my time of the month, cravings, and let’s not forget about the Midol you gave me last month.” I chuck the last few tampons at him then finish with the box.
“I was trying to be nice.” He swats the box away before it hits him in the face.
“Don’t lie.”
“No, seriously. I got the notification that you were starting your period tomorrow, so when I saw the tampons, I just thought I’d help out a little. I didn’t know it would make you this mad.”
“Wait.” I stiffen. “What notification?”
“From the Google calendar you shared with me. The one that tracks your monthly cycle.” He grabs his phone from his back pocket and scrolls through it until he finds what he’s looking for. He holds up the screen, showing me. “See?”
My stomach knots with embarrassment as I squint at the screen. I gasp, covering my mouth with my hand. Sure enough, it’s my Google calendar—the one I use to track the very personal information of my cycle, like spotting, bleeding, energy, mood swings, fatigue, food cravings, bloating, andbreast tenderness.But the mortification doesn’t stop there. No, over-achiever Carly also tracks things like breakouts in strange places, libido spikes, and weird period poop habits.
