Dinner at my place?It says, I’ll pick you up.
Oh, my goodness, could it be that her project has finally come to an end, or is it just a break to let me know she’s still alive and she’s planning on us sharing a dusty table cluttered with power tools?
I text back a simple Yesand then start to wonder what it is we’re going to be eating. Mari is far better at ordering take-out than she is at putting meals together in the kitchen. Want me to bring something?I fire off as I think about Mari’s fancy new kitchen countertops and appliances, and how little use they’re probably going to get with her living there.
Just your cute self,is her reply.
I send her a bunch of happy emojis.
When five o’clock rolls around I’m standing by the front door of the thrift shop like a high school girl waiting for her prom date. And when I see Mari’s truck pull up, I have to force myself not to burst out the door and sprint over to it.