I already had enough interruptions in the form of playing merry-go-round via text conversation with Annie. I glanced at the screen of my phone and saw her reply.
Annie: His appointment is at 1 p.m. So, I’d probably drop them off around noon and pick them up around 2.
Me: Yeah. I can do that. Just remind me Thursday.
Annie: Fantastic. Thank you from me and Dr. Kindrick. Last time I brought all three to his office, they broke a fucking chair and managed to squirt fluoride onto the ceiling tiles.
Me: LOL. Let me guess…Lucy’s appointment. Henry and Emma were the havoc-wreakers?
Annie: Bingo. Those little assholes are crafty.
Sure, it could come across as cold and the opposite of motherly when my sister called her children assholes, but I knew she meant it in the most affectionate way.
They were her little assholes.
Annie: Which dentist does Reed go to?
See what I mean?
And it was like she wasn’t even trying at this point.
Her conversational segues toward Reed weren’t even creative anymore. I mean, she was now inquiring about his dental health. What was next? Accountants and car mechanics?
Me: 415-555-1345
Annie: Is that his dentist?
Me: No, Ms. Nosypants. That’s his number. So now, every time you have the urge to ask me about Reed, just text him instead.
Annie: You’re going to regret that…
Me: At this point, if it stops your Reed questions, I’m willing to take the gamble.
Annie: :D
Me: Anyway, it’s probably fair. I mean, Brian and I text all the time.
Annie: You and Brian text?
Me: Uh-huh. You’re our number one topic.
Annie: You guys talk about me??? What the fuck, Lola? What do you say???
The absurd thing was, I actually did text with Brian. Usually, I just teased him about asking the president for approval for something random, but every once in a while, the topic would turn toward my sister.
Me: Umm…this week Brian and I discussed your obsession with being Team Logan. We both think you’re crazy. Rory should totally be with Jess.
Annie: Liar. Brian doesn’t even watch the Gilmore Girls.
Me: When you’re at Pilates on Thursday nights he does.
Annie: That bastard.
Reed’s soft chuckles pulled my attention away from Annie’s messages, and oddly enough, I found him buried in his phone and grinning like a loon.
“What’s so funny?”
“Your sister.”
I quirked a questioning brow. “What about my sister?”
“She’s texting me pictures of you,” he responded as his fingers tapped across the screen of his phone.
“Pictures of me?”
“Oh, yeah,” he answered with a wink. “Middle school. Homecoming. Prom. I gotta say, you should probably reconsider bringing back the bubblegum-pink taffeta, Roller Skates.”
“I fucking rocked that dress,” I muttered as I typed out a text to Annie.
Me: You’re a bigger asshole than all three of your kids put together.
Annie: Where do you think they got it? :)
Instead of humoring her with a response, I chose to ignore her texts for the rest of the day and redirect my focus back toward next week’s column. Served her right for being such a quick trigger with my embarrassing pictures. Plus, I knew nothing made Annie crazier than the silent treatment. No doubt, she’d be demon dialing me by seven p.m.
A new song started to play from my laptop speakers, and Reed’s brow rose in curiosity. “What band is this?”
I stared at him in absolute horror. “Excuse me?”
“I said…What. Band. Is. This?” he repeated, only ten times louder than before.
“I heard you the first time,” I retorted and shoved my toe into his stomach. He feigned a groan and I grinned. “I can’t believe you don’t know this band.”
“Well, I don’t.” He moved his fingers gently across the bottom of my foot, and I immediately pulled away with a giggle. He smirked. “Mind enlightening me?”
“It’s actually not a band. It’s a musical genius who goes by the name BØRNS. And you’re currently hearing his latest album called Dopamine.”
He nodded, and one of my favorite songs, “Holy Ghost,” continued to serenade us.
“I’m addicted to the ethereal sound he’s got going on.” I sighed dreamily and watched Reed type something on his laptop.
He chuckled. “I can tell.”
I quirked a brow, and he nodded toward my toes, which were tapping happily against his side. “Well, I can’t help it. This album is genius!” I exclaimed. “I mean, I’ve always been a fan of this guy’s dreamy, indie-style pop, but this album is different. It’s like some kind of psychedelic disco vibe with a sixties glam pop undertone. It’s brilliant, and I’ve yet to hear a song I haven’t loved.”