Dude.
Is this even what you want?
When he returns from whatever he’s doing, he’s holding a plate. On it is half a papaya, garnished with granola and yogurt, with a lime wedge on the side. It’s beautifully plated, and for a moment, I don’t know how to process the whiplash.
This morning he spat on me, and now he’s offering me a breakfast worthy of an Instagram post.
I’m so numb to the endless cycle of extremes.
I snap a picture and send it to Alice. And it looks so fucking delicious that I squeeze the lime onto the papaya and eat the whole thing.
Me:
I don’t know what I want.
I’m watching Below Deck and researching international trips.
I ate the papaya also.
They call it paw paw in New Zealand. Weird, right?!
Alice:
A FEW HOURS LATER
Timmy bursts into the room with a grin. “I challenge you to a dance-off!”
“A what now?” I quirk a brow.
“A dance-off. Come on, Margaux. Let’s go!”
Before I can protest, he pours vodka into a baby bottle, tipping it into my mouth like it’s a hilarious prank.
He’s erratic, but not outright mean for the first time in hours.
I guess this is better than the barrage of insults from earlier?
And, while I should probably decline his challenge, I’m clinging to the idea of something—anything—resembling fun.
He abruptly changes tacks. “Let’s go play Monopoly Deal at the pool!” he suggests.
I blink. “Okay… sounds… fun?”
It does sound fun.
Please let it be fun.
And I need to act enthusiastic so I don’t set him off.
“Give me two minutes to change into my bikini and then we’ll go!” I say, a forced smile plastered on my face, praying this upbeat phase lasts long enough to get through a game of Monopoly Deal by the pool.
Keep it steady. Keep things calm, copacetic, and everything will be okay.
My mind wanders to how much more fun it would be to play Monopoly Deal by the pool with Alice rather than Timmy.
Me:
Please come visit. Omg, imagine if you lived like two doors down.