Page 50 of The Woman in 3B

“Uh huh.”

I wiped at my face with the thin, paper napkin one last time and tossed the rest of my leaking waffle cone into a nearby trashcan.

“Oof,” I groaned, “that was good, but I have to stop.”

“Full already?” she posed.

“No. But I don’t want to get fat.”

She shook her head and scoffed. “You’re crazy. You’re like the opposite of fat.”

“I know,” I conceded, “but if I gain weight, I have to buy a new uniform, and those things cost $500 a pop.”

Anissa’s jaw slackened. “That’s robbery.”

“Or, good incentive not to gain weight,” I reasoned.

We’d come to a natural stop in front of a little white house. I probably wouldn’t have noticed the building if not for the monarch butterfly flag that hung near its entrance.

I read the signage out front: “Oh, how cute. Mackinac Island Butterfly House.”

“More like House of Horrors,” Anissa proclaimed.

“What?”

Anissa licked her lips. “I’m terrified of butterflies.”

“You’re such a liar,” I scoffed. “No one’s afraid of butterflies.”

“Iam! Have you seen those things?” she countered. “Why do they need such big, floppy wings? And they fly all crazy. I’m convinced they purposefully divebomb me so they can flop their wings in my face.”

A mischievous grin settled on my features. “So we’re going in, right?”

“Did you miss what I just said?”

I grabbed onto her hand, suddenly feeling giddy. I blamed it on the sugar rush from the ice cream. “Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad. I’ll protect you from the big bad butterflies,” I promised.

Anissa dug in her heels to prevent me from pulling her any closer to the butterfly house. “You think it’s funny, but I’m serious. I’m terrified of butterflies.”

“Did something happen to you as a child to cause such trauma?” Anissa’s face looked too serious, but I couldn’t help the smile still on my lips.

“No. I’ve just always been afraid. If I see one, I run away.”

“Are you afraid of birds, too?” I asked.

“They’re not my favorite.”

I shook my head.

“What?” she huffed.

“I don’t know what to do with this information,” I said with a smile. “I thought you were this cool, bad ass chick, but now I find out butterflies make you pee your pants.”

Anissa covered her face with her hands. “This is humiliating. I never should have said anything.”

I grabbed her hands and pulled them down. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t tease,” I apologized in earnest. “You just seem so cool and put together compared to me. It’s a little relieving to discover you’re not perfect.”

The word seemed to trigger something in her. She stood a little straighter, a little stiffer. “Oh, I’ll go in that butterfly house,” she proclaimed. “I’ll show those butterflies who’s boss.”