Array
(
[text] =>
๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐
I WAKE UP TO THE sound of music playing at full volume. And it’s not just any music. It’s heartbreak music. Sad, lame music that I would’ve put on my playlist if I was a fifth grade boy who had just been through his first breakup.
I run a hand over my face and groan at the music going through my ears. I really need a new roommate, preferably one without girl troubles.
When I make my way downstairs, I see Maxon with his polkadot apron on and hundreds of cupcakes lined up on the center island. He has his hair tied up at the top of his head in two tiny pigtails, chocolate frosting smeared on his cheek.
“What the hell are you doing?” I look at the clock on the wall, it’s literally eight-thirty on a Saturday and my fucking roommate decided he wanted to become ‘Cake Boss”.
Maxon lifts his head for a second to look at me, then he’s back to squeezing icing onto the cupcakes; which look more then decent.
“Baking.”
“No shit. I mean why does our kitchen look like an episode from Cupcake Baking Championship?” I grab my coffee from the fridge, only to find bowls of different color frosting in there.
“It’s…a long story. But a friend,” He pauses to sigh. “needed my help and I couldn’t say no.” His throat bobs.
“Is this the same friend that is causing you to look like a kicked puppy all the time?” I pour my cold brew into a glass and watch as Max nods.
“I won’t ask, because I don’t really care,” Kinda. “but don’t put so much effort into that…friendship if it’s only one-sided. It’s draining.” I sip my coffee.
“Don’t worry, i’m fine.” The music says otherwise.
__________
As i’m contacting more businesses and looking for more support with the contract, I realize I should probably be reaching out to Wren about this. Yet again, she might be doing the same. She might be doing her own thing, and not running it by me.
Still I think we should talk about this.
I take my laptop with me as I make my way down to the kitchen. Max’s music stopped a little over two hours ago, so I assume he’s done with being a baker.
I see Maxon sitting at one of the stools at the island. He’s scrolling on his phone, and the kitchen looks perfectly clean and in order, except for the loads of cupcake boxes on the countertop.
“Max.” I place my laptop down on the island and lean on the counter.
“Rhys.” Maxon looks up from his phone.
“Do you think I should be running everything I do with the clients by my partner, or at least contacting her with it?”
“Yes. Hundred percent.” Shit.
“Okay, well I can’t type everything i’ve done in an email. It’d be six pages long.”
Maxon shrugs. “Then invite her over and talk about it.”
I laugh. Actually. Wow. Oh my God. He’s so funny. Really. Invite Wren James over my house. My house. This is why i’m friends with Max. God, he’s so funny.
“Why are you laughing?” Max stares at me. I don’t stop laughing. “Seriously Rhys. What’s so funny? You’re creeping me out.”
“I’m creeping you out? Max-you were literally listening to ‘Boyfriend’ by Justin Bieber not even three hours ago.” I tilt my head and Max shrugs.
“No shame in the game.”
Max looks back to his phone and speaks to me. “But i’m serious. You need to talk to her. What was her name? Ryan? Rain?-“
“Wren.”
“Right. Wren. It really rolls off the tongue.” Max’s eyes flick up to me and he smirks. “Anyways, you two need to work through this, together. I won’t be here tomorrow, so you’ll have the house to yourself.”
I chew on the inside of my cheek. I mean yeah, we do need to talk about this, but at my house? Well. To be fair I did sort of go to her house yesterday.
“So I should email her?” I tap my fingers on the counter.
“Or text her like a normal person.” Max nods.
“If I had her number.” That makes Maxon chuckle.
“You don’t have your partners number?” He laughs.
“No.”
He laughs some more.
“You’re an asshole.” I grab my laptop but Max leans back to stop me from walking away.
“I’m kidding. Yeah. Email her and ask for her number.”
I roll my eyes and take a seat near Maxon.
๐๐: ๐ธ๐ซ๐ข๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ด@๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ข๐ช๐ญ.๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ
๐๐๐๐: ๐ณ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ@๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ข๐ช๐ญ.๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: ๐๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ต๐ณ๐ข๐ค๐ต ๐๐ณ๐ฐ๐ซ๐ฆ๐ค๐ต
๐๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ ๐๐ช๐ด๐ด ๐๐ข๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ด,
๐๐ฉ๐ข๐ต ๐ช๐ด ๐บ๐ฐ๐ถ๐ณ ๐ฑ๐ฉ๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ฆ ๐ฏ๐ถ๐ฎ๐ฃ๐ฆ๐ณ?
๐๐ฉ๐บ๐ด ๐๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ
I press send after Max’s approved nod.
Then after barely five minutes there’s an email in my inbox.
๐๐: ๐ณ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ@๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ข๐ช๐ญ.๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ
๐๐๐๐: ๐ธ๐ซ๐ข๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ด@๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ข๐ช๐ญ.๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: ๐๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ต๐ณ๐ข๐ค๐ต ๐๐ณ๐ฐ๐ซ๐ฆ๐ค๐ต
๐๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ ๐๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฆ,
๐๐ต ๐ญ๐ฆ๐ข๐ด๐ต ๐ต๐ข๐ฌ๐ฆ ๐ฎ๐ฆ ๐ต๐ฐ ๐ฅ๐ช๐ฏ๐ฏ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐ง๐ช๐ณ๐ด๐ต.
๐๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐๐ข๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ด
I stare at the email. Max stares at the email.
My lips tug up at the corners and Max elbows me. “You didn’t tell me she was a flirt.”
“She’s not.” And I mean it. She isn’t. This has to be a joke. But she doesn’t joke.
Just as I look over at Max, my eyebrows furrowed, another email comes in.
๐๐: ๐ณ๐ฎ๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ณ๐ฆ@๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ข๐ช๐ญ.๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ
๐๐๐๐: ๐ธ๐ซ๐ข๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ด@๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ข๐ช๐ญ.๐ค๐ฐ๐ฎ
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐: ๐๐ฐ๐ฏ๐ต๐ณ๐ข๐ค๐ต ๐๐ณ๐ฐ๐ซ๐ฆ๐ค๐ต
๐๐ฆ๐ข๐ณ ๐๐ฐ๐ฐ๐ด๐ฆ,
๐๐ฑ๐ฐ๐ญ๐ฐ๐จ๐ช๐ฆ๐ด ๐ง๐ฐ๐ณ ๐ต๐ฉ๐ฆ ๐ฑ๐ณ๐ฆ๐ท๐ช๐ฐ๐ถ๐ด ๐ฆ๐ฎ๐ข๐ช๐ญ. ๐๐บ ๐ง๐ณ๐ช๐ฆ๐ฏ๐ฅ ๐ฉ๐ข๐ฅ ๐ฎ๐บ ๐ญ๐ข๐ฑ๐ต๐ฐ๐ฑ.
212-775-7392
๐๐ณ๐ฆ๐ฏ ๐๐ข๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ด
I look toward Max to see him smiling. “Her friend had her laptop.” His smile widens.
I roll my eyes and take out my phone. Then make a new contact with her number. I don’t know what to say.
๐ข๐: ๐๐ฉ’๐จ ๐ง๐๐ฎ๐จ
๐ฌ๐ง๐๐ฃ: ๐๐
๐ข๐: ๐ฉ๐๐ญ๐ฉ๐๐ฃ๐ ๐๐จ ๐๐๐จ๐๐๐ง ๐ฉ๐๐๐ฃ ๐๐ข๐๐๐ก๐๐ฃ๐
๐ฌ๐ง๐๐ฃ: ๐๐๐ง๐๐๐
๐๐๐ ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช ๐ฃ๐๐๐ ๐จ๐ค๐ข๐๐ฉ๐๐๐ฃ๐?
I look over at Max, his face is hovering over my shoulder, reading the texts. He bites his lip.
“Say ‘thought we should meet up and talk about what we’ve been doing on our own’.” He nods.
๐ข๐: ๐๐ค ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช ๐ฌ๐๐ฃ๐ฉ ๐ฉ๐ค ๐ข๐๐๐ฉ ๐ช๐ฅ ๐จ๐ค ๐ฌ๐ ๐๐ค๐ช๐ก๐ ๐ฉ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐๐ค๐ช๐ฉ ๐ฉ๐๐ ๐ฅ๐ง๐ค๐๐๐๐ฉ ๐ฉ๐ค๐๐๐ฉ๐๐๐ง?
๐ฌ๐ง๐๐ฃ: ๐จ๐ช๐ง๐
๐ข๐: ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช ๐๐ค๐ช๐ก๐ ๐๐ค๐ข๐ ๐ค๐ซ๐๐ง ๐ข๐ฎ ๐๐ฅ๐๐ง๐ฉ๐ข๐๐ฃ๐ฉ
๐ฉ๐ค๐ข๐ค๐ง๐ง๐ค๐ฌ?
I wait for her response. It takes a little over two minutes for her response.
๐ฌ๐ง๐๐ฃ: ๐ค๐
๐ฌ๐๐๐ฉ ๐ฉ๐๐ข๐?
๐ข๐: ๐๐๐ฉ๐๐ง 12?
๐ฌ๐ง๐๐ฃ: ๐จ๐๐ ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช ๐ฉ๐๐๐ฃ
๐ข๐: ๐จ๐๐ ๐ฎ๐ค๐ช ๐ฉ๐๐๐ฃ
____________________
[text_hash] => d6abb83f
)