12 Days of Mistletoe

37. Bonnie

THIRTY-SEVEN

bonnie

“That was flirty. Like extra flirty.” I pace my kitchen floor in fluffy socks, waiting for the microwave to ding and tell me that my cake in a mug is ready to be devoured. “Was it too flirty?” I look at Noel, waiting for her sound advice. “I mean, he isn’t really my boyfriend. Technically, friendship is a brand-new baby for the two of us.”

The microwave dings and I jolt my pacing to a halt.

“Ooo—sugar!” I am in need of sugar.

I swing the microwave door open and grab my mug. My extra hot mug with my bare hand. Just as quick, I drop the steaming thing to the ground. I bounce on my toes as chocolaty goodness and hot broken glass splatter from one end of my kitchen to the other.

“Crap,” I say, looking around at the mess I’ve made. “I needed that.” I sigh, nibble on my lip, and think… about Elliot. “Maybe I should tell him about this.” I shake my head and peer at Noel, who must think I’ve lost it. “I know,” I tell her. “You don’t have to look at me like that. I don’t know why I ev en said it. Clearly, he doesn’t need to know that I’ve broken my Scooby Doo mug and ruined my cake.” I swallow and peer down at the blister forming on my right index finger. With all the adrenaline pumping through my veins, I’ve hardly noticed the sting. “But should I tell him about this?”

Noel whines and bats at her eyes with her front paws. She thinks I’m being silly. And she’s probably right. What would I even say? Hey, Elliot, I blistered my finger, wanna see?

“Ouch!” Pain blooms in my finger once more. I flick on the cold water of my sink and stick my finger beneath the stream. Relief washes over my limb. I hang my head and breathe. It always comes back to breathing. The smallest situation can set off my anxiety. But breathing and Noel get me through. Noel is smart enough to stay away from my chocolate mess, though I know she’d like a bite.

I let my finger sit in the stream one minute longer and then I clean up the still-warm glass and chocolate cake from my tiled floor. I huff out a breath and sit right on the ground. I snag a few Cheetos from the counter and feed one to Noel and then myself.

It’s no sugary cake in a mug, but it’ll have to work.

My phone pings, and I glance up to the counter where it sits. Then, all at once, I am certain it’s Elliot. He’s messaging to see if he needs to come up here and doctor my finger. He heard the crash from below and he’s on his way up to save me, shirtless, because he just got out of the shower.

Whoa .

I did not get enough sleep last night. And now my brain has decided that Elliot is more than new, more than fake, more than a friend. It’s a sleepy concoction, not a real one.

I swallow, attempt to be a grown-up, and then snatch my phone as quick as I can. A small number one lights up my texting app and I pull in a breath just before tapping the little green icon.

But Elliot hasn’t texted me. It’s not even from Sarah at Canine Compassion, my mother, or my sister. Huh… does anyone else ever text me?

Autumn: Are you surviving?

I reach for another Cheeto. No rush now.

Me: Surviving what?

Autumn: Denial? It’s a rough business.

Me: This is different. You were denying. I’m pretending.

Autumn: Ah. You’re right. That is different.

Autumn: So… surviving?

Me: Mostly.

Me: Is it normal for a woman pretending to be with a man to want him to run upstairs and save her from blistering to death?

As long as I’m confessing, might as well go all in?—

Me: While shirtless.

Autumn: And you said I was the only one in denial.

Meg: BONNIE!

Me: Whoa! Autumn. Betrayal. You didn’t tell me my sister was in this chat.

Autumn: I didn’t think I needed to. It shows you who you’re chatting with on your phone, doesn’t it?

Meg: You don’t want to chat with me, Bonnie? Well, that hurts.

Me: I just thought I was being blatantly, embarrassingly honest with Autumn—who is your best friend, not mine. No offense, Autumn, but I don’t mind if you think I’m pathetic.

Autumn: Not pathetic. Just confused.

I can’t even deny it. I am confused.

Me: Why do I want Elliot to run up here shirtless and doctor me up?

Meg: Bonnie—do you need an actual doctor?? What’s wrong?

Me: A hot mug blistered my finger. Nothing life-threatening.

Meg: Maybe you’re a little lonely.

Maybe I am. I hate even thinking those words with Noel at my side because she’s my best girl. I don’t know what I’d do without her. But these past few days, I’ve enjoyed being with Elliot’s family and even more so with Elliot.

Me: Meg, I love you, and you are the best sister in the world. Could you pretend for a minute that you aren’t here?

Meg: Rude.

Meg: But okay.

It’s not that I really want my sister absent from this chat. But her judgments mean more to me than a girl I hardly know.

Me: We painted pictures of each other today. He added my tattoo.

I don’t even know if Autumn knows about my tattoo. I just assume, for my heart’s sake, that Meg has told her. If she hasn’t, I’m confident she will in a separate text thread.

Me: He didn’t pretend it didn’t exist, and I don’t know—I just liked that. Then he asked to see it close up. He told me he had googled it. He’d investigated it. He knew what it meant. And he didn’t run away.

Autumn: He sees you. He likes you. You’re important enough to take time for.

Three little thinking ellipses pop up with my sister’s name next to them. I wait, but no text from Meg comes through. She must be deciding whether to publish or delete her comment.

Me: And then he told me I was strong. I’m not sure anyone’s ever told me that before.

Me: And then… I flirted. Like big-time flirting. Relentless flirting.

Autumn: Good for you!

Me: Really?

Autumn: Yes. You wanted to flirt and you did. No denying, see? That’s what we’re attempting to avoid. You’re already a mile ahead of me.

Autumn: Of course—I’d known Ezra for years. You’ve just met Elliot.

That’s a Meg thing to bring up.

Me: Meg’s texting you separately. Isn’t she?

Me: Fine, Meg—say your piece! But say it to me.

Meg: I just think you should be careful.

Me: Says the woman who ran off to Hawaii and fell in love in a week.

Autumn: She’s right, Meg. If you’re pushing for not enough time, you’re the worst person to preach it.

I give Autumn’s response a great big thumbs up.

Autumn: All right. So, you flirted. And now you want him to come up to your place.

Meg: Shirtless.

Me: Maybe. But you said to revisit feelings after the pretending part was over.

Autumn: I did. I also said maybe you should talk to him about the feelings and plan to revisit.

Me: Well, that sounds terrifying.

Autumn: Just be honest. Send that man a text. I’ll spell it out for you. You can copy and paste what I write if you want.

Wow. Autumn is helpful. Maybe I should consider her more than just Meg’s bestie. We could be friends too, right?

Autumn: Hey, hottie—time to come upstairs and make passionate love beneath the Christmas tree. You in?

Okay, I spoke too soon.

Me: Are you serious?

Meg: She’s teasing you, Bon.

Autumn: I am not.

Meg: You’re so not helpful, Autumn Green.

Autumn: I’m always helpful. I spent so much time lying to myself and THAT wasn’t helpful.

Meg: Fine, but give the girl a week or two to understand her feelings.

Autumn: Why? You didn’t. You understood them quite well after five days.

Meg: Remember your first advice—your sound advice? Revisit.

Me: Can’t I just ask him to come look at my blister?

Autumn: If you’re five. But you’re not—how old are you again?

Me: Twenty-six.

Autumn: Then invite him up for some eggnog or a make-out beneath the tree. Whatever you’re up for.

Me: I can make cakes in mugs.

Autumn: Perfect. Maybe say a little more than I have cakes in mugs. Try a text out on us. We’ll help.

Meg: Promise.

I breathe out. Okay. I can do this. I can invite a boy up to my place. A cute boy. A nice boy. A boy that isn’t really a boy anymore and I should really stop calling him that.

I pull in air through my nose, count to five, and breathe out through my mouth, counting to seven. I can do this. I can even not be a dork about it.

I think a minute more, then pull my texting app back up.

Me: Hey, want a cake in a mug? I’m trying a new recipe.

But I can’t decide, so I add a few more options for the girls to choose from.

Me: Or?—

Hey! Thanks for the visit today. We should do it again. How about now? Or?—

I’m glad we’re friends, Elliot. Want to get together tonight? Or?—

I have a blister. I need you to kiss it better.

I smirk. That last one is for Meg. It’ll get her all riled. And I’m feeling a little better now that I’ve got some support. Autumn might be right. Sharing my feelings with the two of them was hard, but I feel better.

And I really do—for three whole seconds. A reply comes in, but it’s not from Autumn or Meg.

Elliot: Wow, that’s a lot of invitations. How can I turn them all down?

I stare at the message. Because there is his name. And his message. And above it are the four options I sent to the girls. Only they aren’t on the girl’s text thread. They are on Elliot’s.

Suddenly my phone becomes one hot potato and a wail cries from my lungs. One that Elliot may be able to hear just below me. I fold my lips closed with the thought and fumble my phone back in place. My breaths come out like an angry hog, nose flaring. What am I supposed to do now?

I switch back to my text with Autumn and Meg and hit FaceTime call. They got me into this and they will get me out.

“Woo! Hoo! FaceTime call!” Autumn says. Her grin is wide, and her long, wavy brown hair is pulled up and piled into a bun on top of her head. “Ooo—you do not look happy, Bonnie. Everything okay?”

Meg answers two seconds later, not giving me a chance to answer that NO , I am not okay at all.

Before my sister can talk, the ocean waves behind her .

I gulp, ignoring Meg’s paradise. “I sent my message meant for you guys to Elliot ! I sent it!”

“Chill, sweetie,” Autumn says. “I’m sure it was fine. What did you say?”

“It would have been fine had I made up my mind about how to ask him. But I couldn’t decide what to say. My head kept coming up with different things he might say back.”

“So”—Meg eyes me—“what did you say?”

“I gave you, but really him, four different options. Uh…” With shaky fingers, I tap my way back to our text thread, where Elliot waits for me to respond. But if I didn’t know what to say before, I really don’t now.

“Four, oh snap.” Autumn’s teeth clench into a not-so-real smile. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“It’s not! It’s not okay at all!”

“Just tell us what you said,” Meg says.

“I said: Hey, want a cake in a mug? I’m trying a new recipe. But then I added: Hey! Thanks for the visit today. We should do it again. How about now? I’m glad we’re friends, Elliot. Want to get together tonight? And then, because I’m certain I’m a comedian?—”

“Oh no,” Meg mumbles beneath her breath, a hand cupping her mouth.

“Oh, yes! I also said: I have a blister. I need you to kiss it better. ”

Autumn’s gritted teeth get grittier and Meg’s cupped hand gets tighter. My personal Dr. Laura’s are suddenly out of advice.

“Now what?” I yell. Another text pings from my phone, to which I promptly toss my cell across the room. “He’s texting,” I bellow .

“Bonnie!” Meg calls from my hot potato cell. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to touch it again.

Noel bumps my thigh with her nose, and I reach down to pat her on the head. Her soft curls slide through my fingers and my breathing eases, just a smidgen.

“Bonnie, pick the phone back up. It’s not going to bite you.” My sister is a comedian. Neither of us should be going into comedy, it is one dangerous game.

Still, I step over to the rug where my cell lies and pick it up. My sister and her bestie are upside down—I flip it over to see them straight on and swallow. “Yeah?”

“What did he say?” Autumn says. “This is salvageable. I promise.”

I blow out an O of air and slide back to Elliot’s text thread. I do not trust myself. My fingers have minds of their own and just might tell him to take me now, take me forever, if I’m not careful.

“He said: Wow, that’s a lot of invitations. How can I turn them all down? ”

“Okay, that’s not bad,” Autumn says, nodding her head yes.

“Now he’s written my name with a question mark.”

“Makes sense,” says Autumn. “He’s wondering where you’ve gone.”

“Whoa!” I wail, almost dropping my phone again. “He’s writing again!”

“Calm down, just read the man’s message. Don’t write anything too hasty.”

“I wasn’t being hasty! I was going through every possible outcome and asking you all to help me decide which was best! I’m never hasty! ”

“Bonnie, it’s okay,” my sister says. “Calm down. What else has he said?”

Elliot’s message pops up and I read it to them. “He said: Are you still teasing me from before?”

“Teasing?” Meg asks.

“Yeah, when I was flirting with him.”

“Yep—say yes. Go with that,” Autumn tells me.

“He’ll think I’m crazy and have no idea how to flirt like a human.”

“Sweetie,” Autumn says, “You are a little crazy. We all are. It’s okay. Just agree with him. Move past your four invitations.”

“Fine. But I’m not asking the two of you for help again!”

I type into the box, my fingers trembling.

Me: Yep. Gotcha.

Elliot: Are you serious about that cake in a mug? I’ve always wanted to try one.

I write back without any advice from my helpers.

Me: Serious as a heart attack.

Huh. Maybe I should have gotten advice. I hit send a little too quick on that one. Yes—I am a crazy girl who occasionally talks like her eighty-four-year-old friend Bill. He’s the only person I know who uses that phrase.

And yet… three elliptic bubbles later:

Elliot: On my way.