The Understatement of the Year by Sarina Bowen Page B

first. Because that was just pathetic. The second rule was: Always wait a half hour before responding.
    But I was on a bus, just staring out at the highway. So of course I peeked. He’d sent me a photograph, one that made me say, “aw!” and immediately compose a reply.
    “Who are you texting?” Bella asked from the seat beside me.
    “My ex,” I said, hitting the send button.
    “Ooh!” she said. “Can I see a picture?”
    “Of my ex? No. I deleted them all. Off my phone, anyway.” As any self-respecting human being would . “But you can see a picture of his new dog.” I handed her the phone.
    “Aw,” she echoed. I tried to take the phone back, but she moved it out of my reach, still staring at the poodle in the photo. “Why is the dog wearing glasses?”
    “I dunno. In fact, I just asked that question a second ago. Not that I expect a reasonable answer.” Skippy was kind of a nut.
    “You know Rikker…” she trailed off, still squinting at the photo. “I’d kill any guy who ever said this to me. But this dog and I kind of look alike.”
    “What?” I grabbed the phone back and looked again at the picture. And then I let out the sort of laugh that hurts a little, because you tried and failed to hold it in. “God, Bella! You’re right.” The dog had curly hair, in a color much like hers. And a goofy smile. “Okay, let’s take your picture and send it to my ex.”
    “Wait!” she held up a hand, and I thought she’d shoot the idea down. But she turned around in her seat instead. “Hey, Trevi! Can I borrow your reading glasses? Just for a minute.”
    Again I snorted. Bella was just about the best sport in the entire world. And I told her so when she came back wearing glasses that were startlingly similar to the ones the poodle wore in the photo.
    My phone buzzed with a text, answering the question of why the dog wore glasses: Rikky, not everyone has perfect vision. Don’t make her feel self-conscious. We don’t have a name yet. Ross wants to call her Kujo, but I refuse. Ideas?
    “What a goof,” Bella said, reading over my shoulder.
    “Yep.”
    “Who’s Ross?”
    “My replacement.”
    She made a face. “Sorry. Let me see the poodle one more time, so we can get this just right.” I showed Bella the photo again, and she adjusted the barrette in her hair to make it poof up like the dog’s. “Let ‘er rip,” Bella said, smiling.
    I switched my phone to the camera setting and framed the shot. “Hang on.” I reached up to gently tilt her chin to the side, like the poodle’s. “Okay. Can you make your smile a little… doggier?” But that made Bella laugh, which made me laugh, so we had to take a minute to calm down.
    “What eez so amusing?” asked Frenchie from across the aisle.
    “Nothing,” Bella giggled, and I lost it again. Several people were turning to stare, now. We were like the loud, raucous table at a restaurant — annoying, unless it’s you. “Okay,” I took a deep breath. “We can do this. Let’s see your pose again.” She made her doggiest smile yet, and I clicked the shutter button.
    For a caption, I wrote: Dear Skippy, your new dog and my new friend…separated at birth ?
    “Hit send!” Bella giggled.
    I did, and it only took about sixty seconds to get the first response. OH MY GOD . Of course, that made us howl. Then he wrote: I can’t even… What is her name?
    Bella , I replied, and my phone rang almost immediately. “Hello?” I chuckled into the receiver.
    “Rikky! Let me talk to Bella.”
    Figures.
    I passed her the phone. She took it with laughing eyes. “This is Bella. Nice to meet you, Skippy.” There was a pause. “I’d be honored if you named her Bella. Seriously. You’re welcome.” She handed the phone back. “He wants to talk to you.”
    “What’s up, Skipster?” I asked, dropping my voice.
    “I’m glad you made a friend, Rikky.”
    Just what I needed — a little patronizing from the ex. The ex who seemed to be doing so much better