dad? He seems fine today. He complained about the meat loaf, but honestly the meat loaf here sucks so he was in the right.
Not Dad. Nick stuff.
Tracey responds with various suggestive emojis.
How do you even know there are so many dick-shaped emojis? I text back.
Lesbians have access to the same emoji keyboard as everyone else, bitch, she responds.
Okay. Well. I’m not sure I should visit Dad today because I’m sick.
Please don’t, she responds. Remember that time that Edith Clancy brought the norovirus in and everyone got infected and we had to quarantine the place for three weeks? I don’t want a repeat. How about I come over tonight after work.
Yes please, I text, and in a few hours, Tracey shows up with three bottles of Gatorade.
“Gatorade?” I ask. “What, am I LeBron James?”
“You’re welcome,” she says, putting them in the fridge. “Gatorade is good for you when you’re sick. You know, electrolytes. Also, what is this delicious-looking soup?”
“Nick made it,” I groan. “Therein lies the problem.”
Tracey heats up the rest of my hot toddy for me and makes herself a cup of tea, then sits down at the table (“I’m not joining you in your den of infection,” she says).
“Okay, spill,” she says. “Not the hot toddy, I mean. All the dirty, dirty deets.”
“Lower your expectations,” I say, and then I unload the whole story to her. How Nick and I shared a physical-contactless night in a hotel in Indianapolis (well, aside from how I woke up snuggled against him). How Nick brought me soup and hot toddies and watched wonderful horrible television with me. How I told him he looked like a hot dad and he left.
“Ohhhh,” Tracey says, taking a slow sip of her tea. “I see what’s going on here.”
“What?” I ask, sitting up straight in bed. “What do you think is happening?”
She shakes her head. “You’ve purchased yourself a one-way ticket to bonetown, girl, and your scheduled departure is any day now.”
I flop back down on my bed. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Do you remember,” she says, pointing at me, “when I told you about how Hannah took care of me during my Barfapalooza performance on her bathroom floor?”
“I’m unable to forget.”
Tracey raises an eyebrow like this proves something.
“Um, what?”
“Nick came over here to take care of you,” she says. “He made you food.”
“That’s what friends do!” I say, my voice rising in frustration, which makes me cough. “You came over here to take care of me.”
Tracey waves me off. “I brought you Gatorade, like a normal person. I didn’t slave over a stove to cook you a meal and then share a treasured family recipe for a therapeutic cocktail.”
“It’s a popular drink,” I mutter. “It wasn’t, like, personal.”
“And then,” Tracey says, clearly ramping up to something, “you admitted to me that you not only thought he looked good, but told him so. My case is closed. Bonetown: population you and Nick.”
I sit in silence for a moment before saying, “This is why we never worked out, you know. Because we’re way, way too similar and we would’ve driven each other crazy.”
She smiles. “Hannah thinks it’s cute when I get like this.”
“I think it’s annoying,” I say, but I can’t help smiling.
“So where’s your boyfriend?” Tracey asks, looking around as if there’s someone stuffed behind my bed.
“Who?” I ask, confused, then realize who she’s referring to. “Oh, you mean Mikey Danger.”
Tracey snorts, sloshing tea on the table. “Okay, wow. You’ve gotta cut this Mikey Danger character loose.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Did you even tell him you were sick?”
“I had to cancel our plans to Netflix and chill last night, so yeah, I texted him and said I wasn’t feeling well.”
“And?” Tracey gestures around the room. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know!”
“I’ll tell you where he’s not.” She leans forward. “Making chicken tortilla soup.”
“That’s because Mikey Danger can’t cook,” I say. “Fred told me he had to throw out a pan last week because Mikey burned Kraft Macaroni and Cheese onto it.”
“I think you need to ask yourself: is that what you deserve? A grown man who can’t make a meal meant for children?”
“Not being able to cook isn’t a character flaw,” I say.
“And what did Michael Dangerous say when you told him you were sick?”
I check my phone and see that he’s responded. “Bummer babe.”
Tracey sighs, then leans back in the chair. “You’re right. Not being able to cook isn’t a character flaw. But not checking on your girlfriend/friend with benefits? That kinda is.”