KATE: Donuts & pumpkin pie are for whatever meal I say they are, Petruchio.
I smile, unlocking the screen so I can answer her.
CHRISTOPHER: You had leftover pasta for breakfast instead, didn’t you?
KATE: Hell yes, I did. So damn good, even cold.
CHRISTOPHER: Cold? Christ, Kate. Why?
KATE: I was running late. I dumped some in a container & ate it on my walk.
CHRISTOPHER: Every Italian ever is rolling in their grave, mourning that you ate and walked.
KATE: I am aware it’s a cultural faux pas, but I’m sorry, there are Italians with ADHD, & I guarantee you they walk & eat. They probably just hide their food in their pockets like chipmunks, shoving it in their mouth when no one’s watching.
I snort.
CHRISTOPHER: I didn’t know chipmunks had pockets.
KATE: Shut up. You know what I mean. ANYWAY. Thank you for the treats from Nanette’s. I packed some for lunch, so even though I had pasta for breakfast, your generosity did not go to waste.
CHRISTOPHER: Tell me you at least had some milk, too.
KATE: Listen, Dad, if I did have milk w/ my donuts & pie, it would be because I enjoy milk w/ donuts & pie, not because you told me to. However, if I didn’t have milk, it might be because I can’t stand cow milk & I’m trying not to drink almond milk since an almond requires an atrocious amount of water to grow, so if I drink a cup of almond milk, I’m sucking up a bunch of water from some poor California grandma’s yard & now I’ll feel personally responsible if it succumbs to wildfires.
KATE: Also, I might have forgotten my lunchbox full of donuts and pie at the apartment. But never fear, I’m eating them now. I left work at 2 & now I’m home alone, sprawled on the couch in my underwear, happily covered in Nanette’s pastry crumbs.
I groan as I picture that. Kate’s long legs stretched out on the sofa, swinging and bouncing like they always do. Probably a mismatched pair of fuzzy socks on her feet, cheeky panties that hug her sweet little ass. An oversized sweatshirt draping down her body yet unable to hide the fact that she’s not wearing a bra, not when her nipples do what they did last night and poke right into the fabric, begging for my mouth to suck and tease them, until she’s panting, squirming— My phone dings, wrenching me out of my lusty thoughts. I clear my throat and read her text.
KATE: Well, I just verbal vomited. Kindly delete this text thread & pretend it never happened.
CHRISTOPHER: Even if I did, text messages might last only a minute, Katydid, but screenshots last forever.
KATE: Listen, Topher Gopher. I can’t find my meds right now, so I’m a little more labially liberated today. Don’t tease me about it. It’s ableist.
A laugh jumps out of me so loud, I hear Curtis startle outside my office and drop something.
CHRISTOPHER: “Labially liberated”？？ Where do you come up with this shit?
KATE: Come up with what? Labial means lips. Ask the New York Times Crossword. “Labially liberated” is my fancy way of saying I’m loose lipped.
CHRISTOPHER: My mind goes somewhere else when you talk about liberated labia, that’s all.
KATE: CHRISTOPHER PETRUCHIO YOU PHILANDERING PHILANDERER THIS CONVERSATION IS TERMINATING IMMEDIATELY.
Choking down a laugh, then taking a deep, steadying breath, I type my response.
CHRISTOPHER: I’m sorry. That was inappropriate of me.
KATE: You’re lucky I liked the donuts & pumpkin pie & the pasta you made. Consider yourself forgiven.
CHRISTOPHER: Thank you. I promise next time I see you, I’ll be on my best behavior.
KATE: I can’t promise the same, because I’m me & life’s too short to be well-behaved. If I can find my meds, I’ll at least be better at avoiding alliterative slips of the innuendo variety.
My phone dings with a new message preview, and I tap on it to read it fully.
JAMIE: We’re on for this Saturday, 4 pm, at Peace, Love, and Paintball with the usual motley crew. Bea invited Bianca and Nick too, but Bianca opted not to come because she said she doesn’t trust Kate with projectiles around Nick yet, which I’m inclined to agree is wise.
I switch back to my message thread with Kate.
CHRISTOPHER: Looks like our well-behaved reunion will be sooner rather than later, Katydid.
KATE: Just got Bea’s text. Paintball! Better watch your back, Petruchio.
CHRISTOPHER: No need. We’ll be on the same team. Jamie made sure of it.
KATE: Both of us on the same team sounds like a recipe for disaster.
CHRISTOPHER: We made a pretty good team last night, making pasta, and that recipe was anything but a disaster.