I have to share this news with Drew. Grabbing my cell, I immediately text him. Given he’s worked the night shift last night, I don’t expect him to respond at all.
/> Drew: That’s my girl! Why is our shampoo almost finished? Did you ‘accidentally’ eat it? I should stop buying coconut-scented products. Pick some up on the way home, please. And toilet paper.
Huh, what an odd request. I could have sworn we had several rolls stored underneath the bathroom vanity. My fingers type fast asking him to check again.
The bubble appears on my screen, and I wait impatiently for his response, clicking my pen at a fast speed.
Drew: I may or may not have used the last 3 rolls to squash a spider I found in the shower.
I burst out laughing, my cell slipping out of my hands and falling onto the floor. Panicked, I reach down and check my screen. Phew. The glass appears intact. Thank God.
Drew is terrified of spiders. If you ask him, he’ll tell you he’s not, and his desire to eliminate them from the world is only because they’re annoying. He doesn’t realize how his face turns pale white, and he scrambles to find anything to squash the poor little fellas, which ticks all the boxes of being a scared, little wuss.
I, on the other hand, have no problem with them. In fact, I don’t even flinch when one crawls across the floor, but Drew’s armed with bug spray and a biohazard suit in less than five seconds.
The sound of my inbox dings, so I focus my attention back to my computer answering my pending emails. I’m in the middle of responding to a client when a distressed Mia sits on my desk twisting a piece of paper in her hand.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I’m going to be Mrs. Bono in a few days.”
“Yes, you are…” I hesitate, unsure of where this conversation is heading.
“Mrs. Bono. People will call me Mrs. Boner.”
I laugh, snorting accidentally in the process. “Who the hell is going to call you Mrs. Boner?”
“People are mean, Zoey. They’ll call you whatever they please.”
“Okay, so say they do. You love Troy. I don’t see what the problem is.”
“My dress didn’t fit right at the fitting last night,” she adds, fiddling with that piece of paper like a hyena on crack. “Do you know how much that dress cost?”
“You have several days left. Surely the tailor could—”
“Don’t you see?” she raises her voice. “It must be a sign.”
Cold feet. I thought it was a myth, but Mia’s pale face, barely brushed hair, and bloodshot eyes are a sign that the so-called myth is actually a condition.
“Mia…” I say calmly, “… it’s okay to be stressed out about the wedding. Remember how much you love Troy. You always go on about how he is Mr. Perfect and came at the right time in your life. You’re just experiencing the normal cold feet. Once Saturday is over, you’ll be glad to be Mrs. Boner.”
She giggles, her shoulders relaxing as she lets out a long sigh. She releases the piece of paper, dumping it in the trash. “He picks his nose and shows me his boogers. Trust me… he ain’t that perfect.”
“Thank God,” I exhale. “All this time I’ve been looking for the perfect man and wondering why I couldn’t find him. Now I know he doesn’t exist.”
“Did you ask Drew to be your date?”
Quickly correcting her, “Plus one. Not date.”
“Same thing. And?”
“Of course, he said yes. He owes me big time. Besides, if there’s anyone I want to keep me company on that night, it’s him. At least someone who understands my humor.”
Mia traces her finger along the edge of my desk. “You two are a great fit.”
“Yeah, a just-friends fit,” I remind her.
“But you know the best relationships come from being friends first. It would be so easy,” she carries on. “You both know each other inside and out, and you already live together. Your biggest dilemma would be whose room you’d sleep in every night.”