Milkrun by Sarah Mlynowski Page B

trash can or down the toilet.
    I throw off my duvet and slide my feet onto the floor. The cold floor. Where are my slippers? Do I have slippers? No, I do not have slippers. Why don’t I have slippers? Where are my socks?
    I slip on some shorts. Not even Sam wants to see my Granny panties. I walk into her room. “Morning.”
    â€œAfternoon,” she says. She is using some sort of contraption to scrub the tiles. “Late night?”
    â€œYeah. Very fun.”
    â€œGood. I’m almost done. You can borrow my supplies if you want to clean your bathroom.”
    I’m not sure, but I think that’s a hint. Oh, well, I have nothing else to do today, anyway. And my bathroom is pretty gross. The last time I cleaned it was…let me think. Have I ever cleaned it? “Thanks. I’ll do it right after breakfast. I mean lunch.”
    I make myself a sandwich. A pretty lame sandwich because now that I have no turkey left, all I have left is lettuce. Okay, I’ll clean the bathroom right after lunch and an hour of TV.
    What’s on? Click, click. A Cheers rerun! That Diane. So literary. I always kind of hoped she and Frasier would stay together. Lilith/Helen didn’t deserve him. As soon as I got to Boston, my first excursion was to the Cheers bar. Quite disappointing. No one screamed “Jack!” when I walked in. Okay. Three o’clock. Time to clean. But Blind Date is on. I love that show. Maybe I’ll just watch until the first commercial…
    It’s five o’clock and I haven’t moved. My butt feels asleep. I really should get up. Sam left all the cleaning supplies on my bathroom floor.
    Why hasn’t he called yet?
    Six-thirty. I’m hungry. Macaroni and cheese? I have no milk left. I hate when it’s too margariney. I order a pizza. Extra pepperoni. What am I going to do tonight? Natalie mentioned The G-Spot. I should call her. At the next commercial.
    Seven-fifteen. I’m still hungry. Where’s my pizza? What happened to thirty minutes, fast and free? I dial Natalie’s number.
    â€œHi, Jack,” she answers.
    â€œWhat’s up?”
    â€œNot much. I’m just getting dressed.”
    â€œWhere are you going?”
    â€œFor dinner. With E-reek.”
    â€œWho’s Eric?”
    â€œE-reek. The guy I was talking to last night.”
    Wait a second. A guy she met yesterday has already called? “The guy in the Armani?”
    â€œThat’s him. He called this morning. I think he might be royalty, but I’m not sure.”
    I ignore her latter comment and focus on the more surprising element of her declaration. “He called this morning?”
    â€œYup.”
    This morning? “And he asked you out and you said yes? For tonight?”
    â€œYeah. Should I have said no? He actually asked me last night, and I said we’ll see, but he called me at eleven to confirm, so I said, Why not?”
    Why not? What am I supposed to do tonight? “Didn’t we have plans?”
    â€œOh…did we? I didn’t think you’d care.”
    â€œWell, I do.” Knowing quite well that if the situation were reversed, I’d do the same. Fashion Magazine Fun Fact # 1: let no man come between two best friends. And let no man come between two mediocre friends unless he’s really hot. I mean, let’s face it; why else would you go to a bar with a mediocre girlfriend on a Saturday night in the first place? To discuss politics? So, when a guy like my Jonathan calls, you expect your friend to be understanding, even if you don’t like it when she does it to you. Not that someone as cool as my Jonathan Gradinger would call so soon.
    â€œYou don’t want me to cancel, do you?”
    Yes, I do. “No, go. Have fun.”
    â€œYou can still go to The G-Spot.”
    Who goes to The G-Spot alone? I’d have to wait in line for three hours by myself. And then I’d have to talk to myself at the bar.