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“I want you to know this is the worst scavenger hunt I’ve ever been on,” Micky declares, lifting another box. It’s been two hours, and we’ve barely made it through half of the boxes.
“Interesting. That actually works really well for me because I suck at cooking.” I don’t answer her question, but hope she doesn’t notice. “That’s impossible. Nobody sucks at cooking. If you can read, you can cook. What’s the best thing you can make?” “Peanut butter and jelly sandwich.” She covers her mouth with faux shock. “Oh my God, I didn’t realize you were illiterate. I’m so sorry.”
“This is a big suite for one person.” “Isn’t it! I got a free upgrade because they booked my room to someone else.” She runs over to the doorway of what I assume is the main bedroom and points inside. “You can roll over five times before falling off the bed—I checked. Well, you’re probably more in the three-to-four-rolls range.
“So, I’m dead?” “Basically,” Jack answers, leaning back in his chair. I turn to him. “Can I be made undead?” “Nope. We gotta kill you now. Needs to match the paperwork.” I like him. Mom’s head whirls from me to him. “Jesus Christ, Jack. She literally just got here.” She searches my face for indignation, but I only laugh. We share some of the same snark.
Most of my dinners happen at the restaurant anyway. Unlike my neighbors, who apparently eat orgasms for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. The walls here are a bit thin.
