Head Over Feels

“Whaaaaaat?” she says, smiling like she knows a secret. It’s not a secret that he was here, hence why I said it like it was no big deal.

It’s no big deal . . . or is it? They are a part of my heart. Oh God, did I send a piece of my heart home with Rad last night? My subconscious is a devious bitch.

“He came by to check on the packing and said I could start staying there tonight.” I do a quick sidestep I learned in tap class when I was five and add jazz hands, cracking myself up. “Don’t make a big deal out of this.”

Leaning against the counter, she holds her hand out, ready to tick her fingers. Oh great. I roll my eyes, bracing myself, which is something usually reserved for Marlow. Speaking of . . . she joins in the fun and stands next to her. Two against one. Even better. . .

I cross my arms defensively over my chest. “Bring on the mockery. Let’s do this and get it over with.”

Cammie touches her index finger. “I want someone to love me like I love coffee.”

I restrain my grin even though that mug is one of my favorites. “It’s a classic.” That barely earns me a smile.

Marlow asks, “And that ugly, brown ‘Happy Birthday, Gerald’ mug?”

“That awesome flea market find is already at Rad’s.”

“I’m surprised your mug collection left the premises. I would have thought you’d be personally escorting them to the city.”

“I love mugs, but I felt they were safe with him.”

Marlow laughs as she returns to the futon. “I can’t wait for Rad’s reaction when he sees them.” Touching her chest, she adds, “We’ve been good friends keeping your addiction under wraps.”

“You submitted my story to Hoarders to be featured in an episode.”

“Although true, does one need that many mugs?”

“No,” I reply, holding my chin up as I defend my mug-loving ways and sit on the bed. “But I think the real question is do I love them? Yes. I do. Do they make me smile? Absolutely. Quippy mugs are sort of my thing. It’s a collection. I have one to fit every mood.” I point at a lone box by the door. “For the record, though, I did set a few aside in the donation box.”

Cammie pads across the room and looks down. “Three? You have like two hundred. As Marlow said, I think you are past love at this point and well into obsession. Did the ‘Happy Accidents’ mug make it?”

“Bob Ross is an American treasure. Of course, his mug made the cut. Anywho, what kind of collector would I be if I broke up the band, Yoko?”

Her hands plant on her hips, and although Cammie tries for serious, she can’t contain her grin. “Yoko did not break up The Beatles. They were already splintering.”

“Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night.”

Giggling, she flops down on the bed next to me and lies back. “You’re ridiculous, Teals.”

Marlow smirks to herself. “I think it’s great that you took them to Rad’s. He needs a little chaos in his life.”

Knowing she’s not intentionally insulting me, I ham it up. “Are you calling me chaos? I thought I was fun. Phoebe fun.”

“You are fun with a side of chaos,” she replies, “fun chaos.”

My brow furrows. “Fun chaos?” I shake my head. “Fine, I’ll be the fun chaos.” Packing takes precedence again, so I drag myself to my nightstand and start tossing stuff into my suitcase. “I found out that our budget’s run out at work.”

Marlow crooks her head. “Quarterly or yearly?”

“I didn’t get the details.”

“It’s only May.”

The vibe in the room changes. I know they’re looking at me, probably worrying about both my passion and my paycheck. I agree, so I don’t look at them. I don’t even know why I brought it up. It probably won’t even happen anyway. I do feel better getting it off my chest, even if I now have two sets of wary eyes directed at me. Cammie asks, “What does that mean?”

“Cutbacks. We run out of money every year, though, so I’m not worried.”

“We know,” Marlow says, “And then every year, you accumulate weeks on the clock and don’t get paid. You can’t keep doing that.” Ideally, no, I wouldn’t, but I’m left with no choice.

“Would you suggest I let people suffer?”

“I’m not trying to be heartless. I’m worried about you. You deserve to be paid for your efforts and the hours worked.”

“And to have a life outside of work, especially if they aren’t paying you,” Cammie adds.”

“I agree, but what am I supposed to do?”

Sighing, Marlow huffs, sending her bangs flying up from her forehead. “I don’t know. I just worry about you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Cammie sits up, resting her weight on her hands behind her. “What if they shut down the office?”