If You Hate Me

by Helena Hunting

“Date number two is tomorrow night. I met him at a coffee shop, and we ordered the same thing. I’m trying not to turn him into my new husband right away. You’d be proud. I haven’t even merged our faces on that app that shows me what our children would look like.”

His button-down is open at the collar, and the sleeves are rolled up. The forearm porn is delightful.

“Only he would send you a basket of dick-shaped vegetables as an apology. That’s what this is, right? An apology basket?” “Yup.” I pass the note card to her. “He fucking misses you, Rix.” She presses the card to her chest.

His smile is so boyishly charming, I almost invite him in so I can sit on his face.

I manage to get inside the apartment without pulling him along with me. My vagina is confused, but my heart is happy.

But the number of tears I’ve shed since last night is ridiculous. I should probably drink something with electrolytes to replenish all the salt I’ve lost.

throat is closing. “Why are you eating Fuzzy Peaches? You hate them,” she asks. “No, I don’t.” I shove more in my mouth. I don’t know why I’m lying. Other than I’m panicking and didn’t expect to see her for at least another twenty-four hours.

I see the potential in him. He has so much love to give, he just needs to feel safe enough to share it. I want to believe in the possibility of us.

matters.” She opens her arms. “Give me one of those melty hugs where you bury your face in my hair and huff me, hoping for some kind of contact high.” I curve myself around her, and she does the same. I burrow through her hair and shove my nose against her neck. “I really love the way you smell.” “I really love that you love the way I smell.” When I pull back, I circle her throat with my hand and brush my nose against hers.