Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
I grab my phone from the treadmill’s cup holder and tap out a text to Marnie.
I apologize for leaning in to kiss you last night. I got caught up in the moment, but I want you to know I genuinely respect your no-sex rule and promise it won’t happen again.
I press send and wait.
And wait.
When Marnie doesn’t reply, I head to a rack of dumbbells and continue my workout. An hour later, I check my phone before hopping into the shower. Still no reply. Fuck.
After showering, I make myself a sandwich and sit down on my couch with my food and laptop and start researching the private chef market. Marnie might decide to pull the plug on our fake engagement, thanks to my lack of impulse control last night, but a promise is a promise. I said I’d help get her business cooking with gas, and that’s what I’m going to do, whether Marnie winds up coming to Wyoming with me in two days or not.
After several hours of research and analysis, I’ve managed to formulate some concrete business advice for Marnie. I check my phone again and curse in disappointment when she still hasn’t responded to my earlier text. I don’t want to send a second text before Marnie’s replied to my first, but protecting my pride isn’t as important as getting this information to Marnie, as promised.
Hey, Marnie. I’ve spent the day researching your industry, as promised, and I’ve got quite a few suggestions for you. If you want the info, I’d be happy to meet with you to discuss. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. Have a great day.
This time, Marnie replies instantly.
Marnie: Hello! So sorry I didn’t reply earlier. I’ve been busy all day, volunteering in Ripley’s classroom. Regarding our near-kiss last night, I think I leaned in first. Either way, I’ve been giving you mixed messages, and I’m sorry about that. My brain and body have been waging a tug of war when it comes to you. Yes, I’d love to hear your ideas for my business. Thank you. I’d suggest you come over tonight, but a) I promised to take Ripley to the movies tonight, and b) I don’t completely trust myself to be alone with you. I don’t think my brain and body are done battling it out. Why don’t we meet at a coffee place tomorrow? I’m free all day.
Well, shit. If Marnie’s brain and body are at loggerheads, then I vote she listens to her goddamned body. Life is short. Why can’t we both agree explicitly that our physical relationship means nothing? That it’s a no-strings bit of fun, just for the pleasure of it, and that’s that? We’re both adults, for fuck’s sake. That’s what I want to reply. But obviously, I can’t.
Me: I’m free all day tomorrow. Name the time and place, and I’ll be there.
Marnie replies with a time and place and explains she’ll be bringing Ripley along, since she doesn’t have a job lined up tomorrow and doesn’t take Ripley to school on days she’s not working. “Don’t worry, though,” Marnie writes, “I’ll give Ripley her iPad and headphones during our meeting, so we’ll be able to talk without interruption.”
Our meeting? Fuck me. I wasn’t thinking of our meet-up as a date, per se, but the word meeting feels awfully formal and cold for the relaxed rapport we’ve built up these past few days.
I gaze out the floor-to-ceiling window on the far side of my living room and take in the gray Seattle sky while trying to decipher the intense feelings of disappointment inside me. The sense of loss. I should be thrilled with Marnie’s suggestion, since it means she’s for sure not cancelling family camp on me; and yet, my heart feels achy and heavy. My stomach tight.
I reply to Marnie, letting her know I’m down for the suggested ten o’clock “meeting” tomorrow and looking forward to it. And that’s that. Our date—or, rather, our business meeting with Marnie’s four-year-old in tow—has now been successfully calendared.
With no work to do today, and no Marnie to hang out with, I tap out a text to my buddy, Grayson, but delete it before sending when I remember he’s in Costa Rica with his lady. I text my brother to see if he’s free today. No dice. And then, I stare at my phone for an embarrassingly long amount of time. I’ve got several friends at work, but they’re all working today. I suppose I could go to a bar or find an easy hook-up on Tinder. But neither activity appeals to me in the slightest.
I swipe into my text exchange with Marnie, feeling a thumping urge to ask Marnie what movie she’s taking Ripley to see tonight and if she’d mind me tagging along. When the thought crosses my mind, however, I drop my phone like a hot potato. What the fuck? I can’t do that! With a roll of my eyes, I grab the TV remote, flip on a show, and hunker down for what’s surely going to be a long, boring—and, yes, extremely lonely—night.