Page 40 of I Love You, I Hate You
Trying not to die
Wait maybe I’m already dead
I did shots last night and I guess I’m not 21 anymore? Who knew
Either way if you wanted to see me today you’ll have to dig me out of my grave, because I’m so hungover I died
Victoria Clemenceaux
You are the most dramatic man I’ve ever fucked, you know that?
Owen Pohl
Ah, but you have heard of me
Victoria Clemenceaux
If you were trying to make aPirates of the Caribbeanjoke there, it didn’t land.
Owen Pohl
Don’t blame me, blame my ghost
Because I’m dead
She pulled up in front of his house forty minutes later, Caribou Coffee to-go cups clutched in each hand while she awkwardly banged on his door with her elbow. She was back to not-thinking-about-it-too-hard when it came to wanting to see Owen, and she really hoped this didn’t backfire on her.
It took longer than it should have for Owen to shuffle his way to the door, and when he opened it he blinked blearily at her for a long moment. “Vee?” he said finally, his voice hoarse. “What is this?” His skin had a faint greyish tinge, and his normally sparkling eyes were dull and watery. In short, he looked like hell.
“Payback for the soup,” she said, holding out a cup. “One large drip coffee, with a splash of milk andthreesugars because you’re kind of disgusting.” She grinned and looked at his bare feet. “Now put some shoes on, because we’re going for a walk.”
Owen slumped against the doorframe. “I can’t, I told you. I’m dead,” he whined. He took a sip from the coffee and closed his eyes. “Or maybe mostly dead? Either way, walking is definitely not in the cards.” His cat snaked around his ankles and he toed it back inside with a quiettsk tsk, stepping outside and shutting the door behind him. “Sorry, if I let him out he’ll kill every bird in the neighborhood and pile them on my doorstep like some sort of barbaric English lord,” he said by way of explanation. Victoria shrugged—she had always been more of a dog person, herself. Owen sat down heavily, running his fingers through his limp hair. “Did I say thank you for the coffee? I can’t remember.”
“You didn’t, no,” she said, sitting down next to him. “But now you can thank me for all of this in one go,” she added, pulling the foil-wrapped breakfast burrito out of her purse.
Owen’s jaw went momentarily slack and he snatched it from her hands. “Oh my god, how did you know?” He tore the foil off and took a massive bite, moaning as he did. “Marry me, Vee. I’m serious. I don’t even care that sometimes you hate me, I’ll marry you right here right now, on my front step.”
She bit back a grin and rested her hands on her lap. “You know, I think that’s my first marriage proposal, if you don’t count Tommy Pierce in kindergarten.”
“Fuck Tommy Pierce, he doesn’t love you like I do,” Owen said, and even though he was clearly joking—and half talking to the burrito anyway—her heart did a tiny little stutterstep at his words. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked at her. “Seriously though, why’d you do this?”
Victoria shrugged. “It’s a nice day and I wanted to do something.”
“And I’m something?” he teased. He still looked like death warmed over, but at least the spark was coming back into his blue eyes.
“I’d rather not get puked on, thank you,” she said primly.
“Hey, I got all my puking done last night,” he protested through a mouthful of burrito.
“I meant I wanted to go for a walk or something. And you came to visit me when you thought I was sick, so I figured it was my turn.”
“So this is the Victoria Clemenceaux care package? A breakfast burrito and coffee?”
“It’s actually the Victoria Clemenceaux Get Your Shit Together and Keep Me Company Package, but yeah, basically.”
Owen turned his face to the sun, eyes closed again. “It is really nice out,” he agreed. “Don’t know how many more of these we’ll have.”
“That was my thought exactly.”