Page 101 of Fighting Words

I grab my toothbrush. “I did a load of laundry last night.”

“You braved the laundromat? Is the one at the end of your block finally open again?”

“No, I trekked to the other one, but I had no choice. Ihadto. I’d worn your sweatshirt six nights in a row. I couldn’t push it one more day.” I talk while brushing my teeth and am surprised he can even understand me.

“You should have called me. I’d have kept you company while you were there.”

I wanted to. “It was late for you.”

“I would have stayed up.”

I know it’s true, but he needs sleep if he’s ever going to finish his book.

“Where’s my photo?” I demand before rinsing my mouth and walking into my closet. “I want my daily allotment of eye candy.”

“I tried to send it, but it’s not going through.”

It’s silly, but my heart sinks. While dating someone long distance, sometimes you rely on the little things to get through. I love getting a daily selfie of Nate. Occasionally, he’ll include Martin or Cat. I was so envious the day he sent a photo with Dog. Once…okay, more than once we’ve sent each other naughty photos.Thoseare the absolute best days. Those phone calls usually…devolve quickly. I can’t imagine what my neighbors have heard through the walls. Ugh, I can’t even think about it without blushing.

“What’s the outfit going to be today?” he asks.

“I was thinking corporate casual,” I say with mock seriousness.

“Corporate casual,” Nate agrees, affecting the same tone. “Sounds like a good call.”

“Blue or black pants?”

“You wore blue yesterday, so black.”

There is nothing too mundane for our phone calls. I would listen to Nate read off his utility bills, and I know the feeling’s mutual.

Once we’ve talked through breakfast and I finish getting ready, I set out on my walk to InkWell.

“Don’t forget your keys,” Nate tells mejustas I was about to walk out the door without them.

I laugh and grab them from the bowl near my door. “How’d you know I was going to leave them?”

“Because you made coffee at home today. You always leave them behind on days when you make coffee at home. Probably something about your hands being full.”

Huh.

Once I’m out on the sidewalk, Nate asks if the crazy hat lady is walking her dogs. I search the sidewalk, craning my neck looking for her. “We missed her,” I say, not even bothering to keep the sadness from my tone. We keep tabs on crazy hat lady, and we take our surveillance seriously.

“Bugger.”

“We’ll try again tomorrow. No wait!” I erupt when I spot her up ahead. She’s our favorite character in my morning commute. Better than pretzel guy and newspaper lady. “I see her! She’s wearing a cornflower blue tea hat.Roughlythe size of a sombrero. Her dog is wearing—hold on, someone is walking in front—oh, yes.” I grin. “A coordinating sweater in the same exact color. He has a tiny tea hat of his own.”

Nate chuckles. “Perfect.”

“We really have to start cataloguing these. I don’t think she’s worn the same hat twice.”

“No, she did, remember? Last month, the red one with the feathers.”

I click my tongue. “You’re right. I’d forgotten.”

We go on talking for the ten minutes it takes me to make it to work. I go incredibly slow. I could cut the commute in half, but I dawdle where I can. Today though, I cut it too close.

“Hold it!” I say, in a rush to catch the elevator. I’m running a few minutes behind which shouldn’t matter because I don’t have any meetings today, but it’s the principle. I like to be at my desk, ready to tackle the day no later than 9:00 a.m., which is why I’m squeezing myself into this elevator and thanking the nice woman who held the door for me.

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