Hello, left turn. “What kind of rash?” “This is the best date conversation I’ve ever had.” “Fletcher.” “I ate a food I’m allergic to and my skin is paying the price.” Oh my god. “Tonight?” He squeezes his eyes shut, and I get the impression this is the last conversation he wants to have. “No.” “Are you—” “Yes, I’m sure.” How can he be—oh. “Have you had a rash all night?” I whisper. The plants might have ears.
