The Magnolia Chronicles: Adventures in Modern Dating(56)

Rob: Come with me.

Magnolia: Where?!?

Rob: Anywhere but first, bed. I'll sleep if you're with me.

Rob: I was a perfect bedmate the last time we had a sleepover.

Rob: How about this: I'll pack now and then head up to your place. For sleeping. Promise.

Rob: Should I interpret your silence as disinterest in my suggestion?

Magnolia: For your information, I was conferring with Gronk. He gets a vote when it comes to sleepovers.

Rob: How did my furry friend vote?

Magnolia: As long as you don't mind him sharing your pillow, he's open to the idea.

Rob: And you? Are you open to the idea?

Magnolia: I consulted the dog, so…yeah. Get your ass up here.





*



Magnolia: I never asked my two-part question! And now I have another question.

Rob: Wait. What? Which two-part question?

Magnolia: From last week! Before you left for New York! You were procrastinating and I wasn't going to reward that behavior.

Rob: I was not procrastinating.

Magnolia: Sounded like procrastinating.

Rob: Ask your three questions while I'm between meetings and can't offend you with my procrastination or beg for an invitation to your bed.

Magnolia: Okay, let's do this.

Magnolia: 1 – when did you get your nose pierced?

Rob: When I was 19 and enormously stupid.

Magnolia: It was that bad?

Rob: Not the piercing, me. I was a self-absorbed jackass back then. I actually cringed thinking about that version of myself when you mentioned it.

Magnolia: Unlike the cringing you do when remembering how you introduced yourself to me by telling me your height, weight, and length?

Rob: Yes. Very much unlike that.

Rob: Next.

Magnolia: 2 – when did you take the piercing out?

Rob: Before I took the Series 7 exam to get my trader's license. That was a little more than 10 years ago. Seemed like the right time.

Magnolia: Do you miss it?

Rob: Was that the third question?

Magnolia: No, but you sounded sad.

Rob: I'm not sad. A little sentimental over my dumb fool youth but no, I don't miss the nose ring.

Rob: Neither do my parents.

Magnolia: 3 – I've been wondering about this since the first time we met in person. I'd thought RRRooster441 was just a derpy handle but your belt buckle had RRR engraved on it that day so…what's your middle name, Rob Russo?

Rob: It was really nice knowing you.

Magnolia: What? You won't tell me?

Rob: I'm concerned about the fallout, to be honest. It's a good thing I'm going to be on the West Coast all of next week. I won't be tempted to show up at your house and blast some Peter Gabriel.

Magnolia: It can't be that bad. You should tell me.

Rob: It's Richard.

Magnolia: Okay, so…?

Magnolia: Oh my god, it's Dick. Your middle name is DICK. That explains so much!

Rob: Yep.

Magnolia: The Dick. It's you.

Rob: I've been trying to tell you this since the start.

Magnolia: Yes, but this is next level, my friend.

Rob: Any other questions?

Magnolia: I'm fresh out of them. Thank you for indulging me.

Rob: Can I invite myself to your bed now?

Magnolia: No dick.

Rob: I'm going to spend the next 5 hours analyzing the fuck out of that response.

Magnolia: Have so much fun!

Magnolia: DICK! Oh my god. I can't believe how perfect that is.





Chapter Twenty-Five





My date was agonizing over orange.

"I just don't know," my mother said with an excessively long sigh. "Do these clash? I'd hate for them to clash."

She held up the nail polish bottles, one in tangerine and another in raspberry, for my review.

"I don't think you need to worry about your toes clashing with your fingers," I said. "They're far enough apart." I gave her the shrug born in adolescence and reserved for the mothers of daughters.

"I think you should worry a little more. Men like it when women are put together and that includes a coordinated mani-pedi."

"Do they now?" I asked, incredulous. My mother wasn't one to espouse such antiquated values.

"They do. It's the little things that matter," she said. "They also like when women wear heels."

"Do you own anything higher than a kitten heel? For the record, your gardening clogs don't count."

She tipped her chin up, murmured in agreement. "I have some cute espadrilles. I wore them two weekends ago. If you were around, you would've seen them."

"Those aren't heels," I argued, skipping over the guilt trip entirely. Juggling Ben and Rob meant neglecting a number of things. Sunday dinners at home, steady laundry cycles, my sanity. "Not really. More importantly, if men don't like my nails and shoes, that's their problem."

"It doesn't have to be a problem at all," she replied. "Now, tell me what you think about these colors. Is it a crime against color wheel laws?"

"You should ask someone else. I'm not an authority on polish protocol."

She gave me the unimpressed stare that, even in my mid-thirties, told me to cut the sass and clean my room. "I don't know why I go to these lengths to have girl time with you when you can't manage a simple question about color coordination."