“Hello to you too.” I take off my blue light glasses and rub the sore spot in the middle of my forehead. I stayed up late, again, chasing down empty leads for jobs. Then I was too stressed to sleep and ended up deep cleaning the kitchen. It felt like my head had barely hit the pillow before Crew woke up, announcing he had peed the bed, again. Needless to say, the last few hours of work have been brutal. “Why?”
“Because your video just went viral,” she yells, and I pull the phone away from my ear.
“What video?” I close my eyes and rest my head on my hands. I need a nap.
“The video on TikTok.”
I don’t move. I might actually be snoring. Sleep is so close.
“I mean the Tic Tac thing,” she clarifies.
I can hear her blender through the phone and I gag just thinking about whatever green things she’s mixing up.
I take a drink of my sugar-infused, caffeinated soda. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“No. I never wanted to go viral. I just wanted to get you out of your comfort zone. But I don’t mean our video. I’m talking aboutyours.”
“Mine?” I sit up and hit the speakerphone option so I can search for the app. It takes me a solid minute to locate the application that is in fact, not called tic tac. I finally figure out how to find my page and see two posts. Maddie and I only made one video the other day. Why are there two?
I click on the latest video.
Last night’s scene unfolds before my eyes and embarrassment heats my cheeks. Ward walks into the locker room, pulling his shirt over his head. Then there’s me, posing like an idiot in front of the camera, until I turn and run into his bare torso. His arms drop, trapping me against his chest with his shirt.
Gosh, I love that shirt.
Did it happen this fast in real life? I skip back, reliving that moment. Was it this hot the first time?
“Talk about steamy,” Maddie says, startling me, and I almost drop the phone.
The second time around I catch Crew’s voice in the background, saying little things like “Mommy’s funny.”
As the video trails off, my own voice assaults me. “I’ll take one firefighter and a frosty, please, Wendy.”
I didn’t say that.Pleasetell me I didn’t say that.
And now my image on the screen is fanning herself.Make it stop.
My face burns. Thankfully, there’s no one here to witness my utter humiliation in person. Just the millions online. If I wasn’t dying of embarrassment, I’d be impressed that Crew managed to keep a video on me for almost a full minute.
“I’m sorry,” Maddie says as if she knows exactly what I’m feeling. “But it’s really not that bad. It’s sexy.”
“Maddie!” I practically wail. I can agree that it was sexy. Ward playing with Crew was even more attractive. But I don’t need that kind of attention online. Or anywhere.
“What do I do now? How do I get rid of it?” I half cry into the phone. Even though I know I shouldn’t do it, I click on the comments. There are thousands. Some are mean, but for the most part, they are positive. A little too positive. They want us to be together in real life.
Someone added the hashtag #fireandfrosties and it caught on. People are invested.
“Don’t delete it yet. Maybe you can get some money from this.”
“Ha! If I got money for every time my child embarrassed me in some way I’d… actually have money.”
“Just give it another day or two, then delete it,” Maddie insists.
“I feel like this is the opposite of the advice I should be getting from my legal counsel. What are they teaching you in that school?”
“Don’t worry. There will be a new sensation tomorrow. But for now, you’re viral.”
“That’s what the doctor said about Crew’s last cold.” And just like Crew’s cold, there was no prescription that could take it away faster—it just had to run its course.
