“Anyhow?Is that a word? And is there more than one way to eat a Cheeto?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” What in the world is wrong with me?
“I would, actually.”
“Well, I’m not going to tell you or show you. You’re just going to have to imagine all the ways I could devour Cheetos.”
Melissa, shut your trap. You sound like an idiot.
“I think I will.”
What’s that supposed to mean? Is he trying to flirt with me?
four
. . .
Did I just tell Melissa I’m going to imagine all the ways she can eat Cheetos? That was a bizarre thing to say. What is wrong with me?
“So, no date for the wedding?” she asks.
It takes me a second to register the abrupt change in subject. “Why would you assume that?”
“Uh, because there’s nobody else here with us?”
She makes a good point, but I say, “Maybe she’s flying in from somewhere else. Or maybe she’s coming tomorrow or Saturday morning.”
Melissa cuts a glance toward me as she pulls back onto the interstate. “Is she?”
“No,” I mutter.
“Hmph.” She taps her fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music on the radio. “So no date, then?”
“No.”
“You could’ve just said that in the first place.”
“Maybe I like to irritate you.”
“Sounds about right.”
“Why does that sound right?” I fold my arms over my chest.
“Have you already forgotten our conversation about you being a jerk?”
No. It was surprisingly hurtful, but I’m not going to admit that. “Yep.”
“Suit yourself.”
She turns up the volume on the radio, transferring Cheeto dust from the knob back to the steering wheel in the process. Then she proceeds to sing along with “Didn’t We Almost Have It All” as if she’s trying to win a beauty pageant.
I grab a tissue from the box on the floor behind her seat and use it to turn the radio back down.
“Didn’t want my Cheeto cooties?” she asks with a smirk.
“Doyouhave a date?” I say in response, though I’m not sure why I’m asking.
“None of your business.”
