Page 11

Chapter 11

Moxie

T he buzzer for the front door to my apartment sounds. I glance at the clock as though the time matters. It doesn’t. No matter what time it is, I wasn’t expecting company. I’d prefer to shut off all the lights and hide behind the couch until whomever it is goes away so that I don’t have to people. Unfortunately, since my window is open, the TV is loud enough that I'm not fooling anyone. With a sigh, I pause it and press the button for the speaker.

“Who is it?” I growl.

“Your new bestie!” a cheery voice announces. I frown at the speaker and reluctantly buzz her in. I give the apartment a quick scan, decide it’s presentable enough, then open the door to a widely grinning Hannah.

I’m bowled over as she charges past me. Hannah, who usually doesn’t have so much as a strand of her wavy locks out of place, has a mysterious orange glob on her forehead, and her shirt actually has wrinkles. I think she’s one of those unicorn people who still irons their clothes. I don’t even own an iron.

“Are you okay? You look a bit… frazzled.” I nod at her hair poking out at odd angles from her ponytail. Her eyes cross as if she’s trying to look at herself, and failing that, she pats her head. She catches a loose strand, and after a feeble attempt to fix it, motions for me to follow her to the couch.

“Never mind about my hair. There was an incident involving knitting needles and jello.”

She’s been here for two seconds, and this conversation is already giving me a headache. Hair smoothed, she fusses with her shirt and straightens out her clothes.

I shut the door behind her as she marches to the living room with her giant purse and a vice grip on a grocery bag full of wine. Maybe this won’t be so bad. She waves dismissively. “It’s a whole thing.” She finally pauses in her haste and takes a deep breath. “Sorry. That was a lot. Hi.”

“Hello.” I draw out the word, feeling a bit like I’ve had way too many drinks and woke up having blacked out our entire conversation. “Did I forget plans?”

“Nope. You’d have to respond to have plans.” The words imply irritation, but her tone is bright and unbothered. I guiltily remember a handful of unanswered texts that either came in while I was busy or that I didn’t know how to respond to. It ought to be so easy, but sometimes a simple response feels like a momentous task.

“Right. Sorry.”

“Not a problem.” Hannah hums to herself as she holds out one of the wine bottles, and I hurry to get out two glasses. “Lucky for you, I'm undeterred by your antisocial tendencies and ready to smother you with my friendship.”

I wave a hand in the air in front of me.

“What was that?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I mutter. Just me trying to figure out if I’m dreaming. I can’t remember the last time I had a friend. Thanks to my parents’ business issues, I got so caught up in not being overly trusting of anyone that I kind of missed out on friendships altogether. I spend my free time on hookups and dreaming up elaborate vacations based on travel magazines and TikToks, that I never actually go on. This sudden effort at friendship from Hannah is putting me off balance.

“Okay, weirdo.”

“You showed up unannounced with jello on your forehead, but I’m the weirdo?” I hand her a napkin.

She frowns. “Mirror?”

“Bathroom’s on the left.” I point down the short hall of my small apartment. While she’s gone dealing with the glob, I dazedly pour us each a glass of wine, still coming to terms with the fact that she’s here.

“Thanks.” She takes my offered glass as she walks into the room with her hair perfectly coifed and her face free of debris.

“So, what do you want to do? I’ve got a deck of cards, or we can watch something. I’ve got some adult coloring books in here, too.” She rummages through her bag.

“Easy there, Mary Poppins. I'm not doing anything until the knitting needles incident is explained.”

She sighs. “I was hoping you’d breeze on past that.”

“It wasn’t a very breeze past-able statement, especially if it managed to get you frazzled.” I fold my arms.

“Yeah, but I don’t think it’s going to do me any favors.”

Now she’s definitely not getting away without telling me. I narrow my eyes at her.

“Alright, alright. So, my mom dragged me to Stitch ’N Bitch, and Wyatt’s mom showed. That’s not unusual—they just stay on opposite sides of the house and drag people into their drama—but my mom said something about his mom’s knitted kitten looking more like a mouse. She said my mom’s scarves weren’t color coordinated, and a gasp went up around the room, and needles were brandished. I threw myself in the middle so nobody would get stabbed, and then someone flung Jello, and then I heard things like ‘you crusty pumpernickel loaf’ and ‘you soggy toe waffle’ and I bolted before the name calling could get Shakespearian, right as a full on food fight started.”

If my own experience with their parents hadn’t already convinced me that this absurd feud needed to end, this proves it. “So, you left them there without supervision? You might go home to a crime scene.”

“I know! I panicked. What happened to my wine?”

“You drank it.” I pour her a fresh glass. “At least it wasn’t just the two of them. Surely some of the others will step in.”

“Right. Yes. I’m sure they will.” Nothing has ever sounded more like “they won’t.” Hannah tries to smile but her grin has a little too much teeth and is less than convincing. My heart thumps away anxiously in my chest, and I flick a longing glance toward the antacid in my medicine cabinet. My new maybe-friend is giving me heartburn.

“Assuming they all come out of knitting club alive, what are we going to do about it?” I ask.

“We?” Her question is meek, but her doe eyes are full of hope.

“I already agreed to this. I’m doing it.”

“I know you did, but I honestly thought you might bail when you realized—”

“Stop,” I snap, interrupting her. What is it with everyone questioning my commitment? “Even for something as ridiculous as this, I get that the average person probably would not have agreed to it in the first place, and maybe I shouldn’t have. But I did. I’ve gone out of my way to avoid friendships, but your challenge came when I was weak with boredom. In spite of this being as weird as French fries and ice cream, I’m going to do it. You and Wyatt both need to stop doubting me and let me help.”

Hannah shrinks back at my tone but nods. “Well, now I just want to go out and get ice cream and French fries because it’s delicious. I really did come over here just to hang out, but if we’re doing this, I guess we should dive in.” She pulls out a notebook, three different colored markers, and a ruler, which she carefully spreads out in front of her like my couch is her new office.

She didn’t come over here to do this, my ass. I do a double take at her oversized binder. It’s mostly poop-brown, mottled with other colors that look like it’s trying to be camo but can’t quite pull it off. It is without a doubt the ugliest notebook I’ve ever seen.

“That is the most un-Hannah looking notebook of all the notebooks that ever notebooked.”

She giggles but holds her precious office supply as if it were a close friend.

“Seriously, what the hell is that?”

“Allow me to introduce you to Alfred.”

She brought her notebook. Her motives may not be nefarious, but there are motives nonetheless. We’re back in familiar territory. If she’s here because I'm being used and not because she wanted to spend time with me, the world makes sense again.

“That thing is your notebook? I can’t imagine you strolling through Target with an entire aisle of options and settling on that.”

Her eyes light up. “Oh, I know! Isn’t it hideous?”

“Yes. Why on Earth do you have it?”

She leans in and lowers her voice, secret-telling mode activated. “I have this thing where I collect notebooks. My bookshelf has like fifteen beautiful notebooks that I can’t bring myself to write in. So now, I make it my mission to search for the ugliest ones I can find so I’m not afraid to use them. This one might be the best.”

I bite back a laugh at the complete sincerity in her tone. While this sounds absurd to me, she conveyed it like she was imparting the secrets of the universe.

“Normally with conflict resolution, I would suggest we get to the root of the problem. You can see here in Section A, I've detailed the history of the feud.”

This is more like the Hannah I’m used to. I know I'm supposed to take it seriously, but she has an entire novel here on her parents bickering with their neighbors. My cheek muscles ache from fighting the smile. My lip quirks, and she catches it.

“You’re laughing at me!” She shuts the poopy journal. “It’s fine. We don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, don’t be so sensitive. I’m sorry. I’m not laughing at you; I'm laughing at the situation. Carry on.”

She reluctantly opens it back up. “Since we don’t know the origin, the closest we’ve got is the escalation point: the breakup between me and Wyatt. We’ve tried proving we’re friends before to no avail. That’s where you come in. They have to believe you two are smitten.”

“When tips are on the line, I can convince tourists every day that they’re the most fun table I've ever had. Getting some parents to believe that I’ve fallen for their gorgeous and goofy son shouldn’t be a problem.”

“I’m sure you can do it.” Her smirk puts me on alert.

“What?” I ask.

“Do you really think it’s going to take that much acting?” she asks. “I’ve seen the looks on your faces when you’re together.”

Adrenaline floods my body, and my whole system says, Defensive mode, activate! “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I take a sip of my wine to hide whatever my mouth is doing.

“Even when you’re trying to get tips, I rarely see you smile at work, and Wyatt makes you giggle. You can’t tell me you don’t like him at least a little bit.”

Damn. I’d hoped no one else had noticed that. But this was all too messy to begin with. Combine that with the fact that I don’t do relationships, and there’s no way we’d work. Emotions have no place here. “He’s alright. I don’t mind his company, and I'm sure we’ll have a good time while we convince the parents.” My nonchalance is just as much a reminder to myself as it is to convince Hannah.

“Whatever you say. So, we have to get you two together in front of both sets of parents. I think if I’m there too, clearly unbothered by it, maybe that will do the trick.”

For someone who’s been dealing with this nonsense for years, she seems far too optimistic.

“I’ve written down a list of ideas on where and how we might be able to do this, but first, if it’s going to be believable, you two should spend time together where you’re not in the spotlight.”

“He’s promised me adventures, so we planned on time together anyway. That shouldn’t be a problem,” I say.

Hannah scratches her head, and her eyes wander around the room. Whatever she’s about to say, she doesn’t want to say it. I grip the couch cushion to brace myself. “Yes, but if the idea is for you two to be believably smitten, you should probably... you know,” she trails off.

I think I know where she’s going with this, but I'll be damned if I let her get away with not saying it. “No. I do not know. We should probably what?”

She holds up her phone and my TV remote and taps them together, like she’s six and making two dolls smash faces.

“Oh. Right,” I say, though it’s admittedly exactly where I thought she was going, maybe with words instead of a technology puppet show. I allow myself to envision this. Wyatt and me on various excursions, making out. Wyatt deftly removing his shirt and running his hand down my spine.

I shake the thought before my imagination gets too pornographic with Hannah here bearing witness. I’ve never had trouble keeping emotions out of sex before, so I don’t see why it’d be any problem now. At the very least, I could enjoy making out with Wyatt.

Hannah’s toothy grimace is back as she awaits my response. “Yeah, I don’t think that’ll be a problem either. Does that sacred notebook have a minute-by-minute schedule of how my cell phone and his remote are going to get together?” I ask her, half joking, half concerned that she might.

“Nope, just the suggested locations. We don’t want to overthink it,” she says.

“Yes, we wouldn’t want to do that,” I shoot the binder a pointed look. “You realize you’re a walking contradiction, right?”

“Just keeping you on your toes. So, has he reached out, or are you going to make a move?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t sure what I should be doing. There’s no guidebook to follow.”

Hannah hoists her binder and opens her mouth to speak before I cut her off. “I meant that this isn’t a typical dating scenario. I understand you’ve written a literal guidebook.”

“Step One: Moxie texts Wyatt to schedule first date.” She taps the page and claps excitedly. Hannah’s timing in coming here tonight was perfect. I had been frustratedly scrolling through Netflix, uninterested in any of the options, wanting to do something but feeling like I had no one to call.

My life has gone stale, and I’m constantly bored to tears. Her company is nice, and I'm looking forward to whatever activities Wyatt conjures up. And yet, there’s a tinge of disappointment there too, that planning really seems to be her sole reason for being here. It’s expected and comfortable, but sometimes I wish she was actually my friend so I could call her up to hang out. My loneliness is a choice, but sometimes it gets... well, lonely.

Setting aside my dismay, I focus on the task at hand. “Alright.”

Hannah flips through tabbed sections. “What do you want to do on your date? I have info on bowling, miniature golf, rock climbing...”

“You would go rock climbing on a date?”

“Of course not, but I thought since you’re more of a daredevil than me that it might be an option.”

“Let’s see if he has any ideas. After all, he’s the one who promised me some real adventures. I want to see what he can think up.”

Hannah looks like she showed up for a party on the wrong night.

“I’m sorry. We can use Alfred. Show me what you think he will like.”

“No, you’re right. He hinted that he had some exciting activities for you, so text him and let's see what he’s got.”

Never has my communication with a man been so planned out. Hannah leans over so she can watch in real time as if she wants to record this life-changing event. As my thumb hovers over his name on my phone, my heart rate kicks up a notch. I can’t wait to see him again, which is another thing that takes me by surprise. I rarely want a second date. It must be because we haven’t so much as kissed that has me itching to see him so soon.

“What do I say?” I ask, suddenly a little nervous and overthinking it. He’s expecting to hear from me, so this shouldn’t have the pressure that a real date has.

“Keep it simple,” she says.

Me: Hey, it’s Moxie.

I show her the text, and she nods with a gravity wholly unwarranted for the simple text. I take a deep, steadying breath and tap send.

“And now we wait,” she says.

“Now we wait,” I agree.

“And eat gummy bears.” She pulls a bag from the counter, but before we can even crack it open, my phone vibrates. Hannah squeals.

Wyatt: I was hoping I’d hear from you.

I like the image of him sitting by the phone, awaiting my text. I doubt that was actually the case, but it doesn’t hurt to dream it that way.

I show it to Hannah.

“Well?” I ask.

“My brain is screaming at me to give you an entire script, but I’m not going to do that. I got you through the door. You two lovebirds can handle it from here.”

“We’re fake dating, remember? Your families are way too complicated to give this a real shot.”

“Either way, you’ve got this.” She tears open the bag of gummy bears and pops a few in her mouth before pulling out her phone and scrolling away to give me some privacy.

I guess I’m on my own.

Me: Antsy, were you?

Wyatt: Strictly business reasons, of course. Someone wanted to keep this professional. And I had to check in on your sore feet. You threatened to toss your heels into the hottest flames in the depths of hell about ninety-two times towards the end of the party, and I didn’t get a chance to ask at the office how your feet were doing.

Gorgeous and concerned about me. If it weren’t for this pact, I might have given him the multi-date treatment anyway. I smile to myself. Hannah notices and grins as well.

Me: Glad to know my health is a high priority.

Wyatt: The highest.

Me: My feet are doing much better. My shoes survived my burn threats but are in a time-out.

Wyatt: Good. Show them who’s boss.

Me: When are we starting this fake dating thing? Someone owes me an adventure.

The text window remains stagnant for several minutes. My eyes keep flicking to the phone screen, waiting for the familiar glow of a notification. Did I lose him? I usually rely on body language to figure out where I stand and then hit them with a sultry look, but even I know a spontaneous video call would be an etiquette breech, no matter how good my fuck-me eyes are. Hannah sitting next to me would be a bit weird too.

“Maybe he changed his mind.” I sink back into the couch cushion, closing my eyes.

“Give it a minute. He didn’t change his mind. Trust me.” Damn, doesn’t she know those are the hardest two words in the English language? The couch shifts. “Movie?” she asks.

I crack an eye open to find her settling into her side of the couch, and I search the room for answers. I’d half expected her to get up and bail on me now that the date-my-ex protocol is re-established. Apparently, she’s staying, and we’re doing friend things.

“I—okay.”

We choose Game Night . Actually, Hannah chooses it as the self-proclaimed movie expert. As the opening credits roll and my phone screen remains dark, my fingers start drumming. Before I can stop myself or overthink anything, I tap out another quick text.

Me: Unless you changed your mind.

Nothing, not even an ellipsis. Shit. I suck at dating. Even fake dating. I shouldn’t care about this. One-night stands are much easier. You show up at a bar and pick someone out. There’s none of this text analysis.

“Watch the movie,” Hannah sing-songs as she tosses a gummy bear at me.

Reluctantly, I settle in to watch. Finally, my phone buzzes on the table.

“It sounds like he’s in. He said he has some ideas what to do and asked when I’m free,” my voice pitches higher.

“That’s great!” She holds up her hand for a high-five.

Me: Does Wednesday night work? I could be ready around six.

Feeling more confident, I take a sip of some water and resume watching.

Wyatt: Text me your address and plan on wearing hiking shoes. See you then, gorgeous.

I hug my phone to my chest and immediately realize that it may be the least Moxie thing I've ever done before chucking it onto the table like it bit me. Hannah raises her eyebrow at me, but I pointedly ignore her and fix my gaze on the screen.

Hannah wrestles my phone from me. “Sounds like he’s bringing you to the mountains. Don’t get naked on the trail. I don’t want you crying that your butt itches because you were doing it in a patch of poison ivy.”

I throw a pillow at Hannah. “I’m not promising that we won’t be doing it, but I’m not getting naked in the wild. With my luck a bear would find us, and I’m not running naked through the woods screaming at the top of my lungs.”

She almost falls off the couch laughing. “Make sure you ask Wyatt what to do if you encounter a bear because I know you are definitely not supposed to run. That would be an awesome first date story to share with the kids someday.”

“Kids!” I feel the sweat breaking out on my forehead. “Fake dating, remember?”

I get up and pace around the room.

“Relax. I was only kidding. Besides, what happens if you really like him? It could happen. Never say never. But if you’re a child-free-by-choice kind of gal, I totally support that.” Hannah pats the couch cushion for me to sit back down.

“Alright, but let’s not even joke about that. I think I’d rather face the bear.”