Fluffy(34)

Massive side eye gets thrown my way by my two friends. “You’re going, Mal,” Perky declares. “Plus, remember Rayelyn Boyle? She checked 'Going' on the reunion app.”

“Rayelyn’s going?”

“Your nerd friend,” Fiona says casually.

“Uh, she was just my friend. We were in all the academic curriculars together.”

“Right. Nerd friend.”

“If she was my nerd friend, what were you two?”

“Your hip friends,” Perky interrupts.

“Ha!”

“You live here. All three of us do. If we don’t go, everyone will assume we’re losers,” Perky argues.

“Or maybe they'll assume we’re mature women who don’t need to go back to some stupid high school nostalgic gathering where the popular kids relive their importance and the rest of us try to pretend we’re not still traumatized by the social dynamics of an oppressive system where people with underdeveloped frontal lobes were forced to operate by survival of the fittest!”

They stare at me.

“Wow, Mal. Baggage,” Fiona says, clearing her throat as I chug water to clear that nasty taste out of my mouth.

The taste of the past rising up.

My sigh comes out with more anger than even I expect. "I don’t have baggage. I didn’t. I didn’t until Will Lotham waltzed back into town and re-entered my life. I take a lot of crap from people for deciding to come back after Brown and live in my hometown. You both know that.”

Perky shrugs. “I don’t.”

Fiona smiles serenely. “I know what you mean. Our high school was so competitive. Leaving town was a sign of being serious about going out into the world and conquering.”

“But you’re a preschool teacher, Fi. You’re collaborative. Not competitive,” I point out.

A flash of emotion fires up in her eyes, tamped down quickly by some other part of her. “I used to be. I’ve mastered that competitive part.”

“Your kickass kickboxer part?”

“Right. She’s still inside me. Waiting. Watching. But that kind of anger and worry isn’t good to carry around. I let it go a long time ago.”

“You can’t,” Perky declares flatly. “You can’t let it go entirely. We carry alllllll our crap around with us on some level. I can decide to let go of my anger at Parker for turning our sexting into a worldwide meme about my boobs and two dogs screwing, but it’s always there.”

“Like Will Lotham,” I mutter.

“Exactly,” Perk says, grabbing her tablet. “Which is why you need to find an FWB.”

“No–she needs an ONS.” Fiona huddles heads with Perky.

The conversation has clearly shifted, but I don’t know in which direction. Like a sewage plant spill, the direction matters.

“What are you two talking about? ONS?”

“One night stand,” Fiona says slowly.

“You need a date,” Perk says.

An image of Will in his suit takes over my mind.

“Do not! I hate dating.”

“Which is why you need it. When was the last time you got laid?”

I go quiet.

“Knew it! It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?” Perky’s tapping on her glass screen. The sound of fingers thumping reminds me of cantaloupes falling off a kitchen counter onto an area rug.

“The reunion is two weeks away,” Fiona starts, her voice making it clear she’s about to prove a point.

A point involving me.

“Yes?”

“So that’s two weeks to find a date.”

“Or two weeks to avoid, avoid, avoid and come down with strep throat at the last minute so I have an excuse not to go.”

“This isn’t debate finals, Mal. That’s not going to work this time.”

Tap tap tap.

“In!” Perky announces. “I’ve logged into your online dating profile,” she informs me.

“What? After that weird guy who bragged about how he scales his own teeth with a nine-dollar kit from DebtSlavesNoMore.com and showed me his DIY-dental channel on YouTube, you know I swore off online dating.”

“His videos were impressive,” Perky says. “I didn’t know gums could bleed like that and still heal.”

Fiona and I share a shudder that rates a 3.2 on the Richter scale.

“I am not so desperate that I need to find a high school reunion date on an online matchmaking website.”

Fiona and Perky look at each other.

“Come on!”

They turn their attention to the dating site.

“I’m just going to flip you to Available,” Perky announces, her fingertip slowly swiping. She peers at the screen. “When did they add Desperate as an option? Huh.”

“You have to field the dick pics,” I inform her. “No way am I sorting through those again.”

“Why do guys think that’s a good idea? Do we send them pictures of our labia?”

“Only when they ask,” Perky mumbles.

“You do not!”

“No. I don’t. I send back a picture of a huge cock and say, ‘Mine is bigger than yours.’”

“Bet that shuts them up,” Fi calls out.