Joey’s flight leaves in three hours, but her sense of urgency doesn’t exceed how fast she can spoon globs of peanut butter into her mouth. She’s still in her bathrobe. Her carry-on is empty. She hasn’t looked away from the episode of 90210 Prep that’s on the TV. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t blinked in seventeen minutes.

“Don’t you have a car coming in an hour?”

“Yes.”

I glance up at her from where I’m sitting on the floor before returning my attention back to my reflection in the mirror I’m holding. My eyelids are glittery and so is our rug.

“Are you going to fly to Oslo without your bra and panties on?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

I snort and pick up my mascara. The gala is also in three hours, but unlike Joey, I’m almost ready. Not because I feel like being exceptionally early for once in my life, but because Asher’s picking me up and that thought alone has made me exceptionally nervous.

I got the text before any of my alarms went off, which meant he was getting as much sleep as I was.

Asher

Can I pick you up tonight?

Even though I knew my answer as soon as he asked, I couldn’t muster a reply until my final alarm went off.

Olivia

As long as you bring me a latte.

Asher

I can’t promise they’ll make it right.

Olivia

I’m not as fussy as some people.

Asher

Are you insinuating that liking my coffee a certain way makes me fussy?

Olivia

Of course not.

I’m telling you that makes you fussy.

Asher

I’m rethinking offering to pick you up.

Olivia

I’ll see you at 8:00.

A few text messages and I was wired, which meant I voluntarily went to a barre class with Joey before the sun came up. My energy lasted until my third relevé plié. I was not made to be a nimble ballerina. I feigned a pulled muscle and went to the bagel shop across the street.

Before I could stop myself, I ordered a double-toasted cinnamon raisin bagel with extra cream cheese. It was my auto-response whenever I walked into such an establishment. If I walked across the street, I would have surely ordered the right coffee that the barista would make the wrong way. But I didn’t. I sat at a table by the window, watching the snow flurrying against the sunrise, and ate the grossest bagel in existence.

Can I really love a guy who insists on eating his bagel that way? It seems unlawful. Unholy. He needs to go beg for forgiveness. Maybe get exorcised. The devil is clearly wreaking havoc on his soul.

Possibly mine too.

Because I still love the absolute weirdo.

And that absolute weirdo kissed me.

And I haven’t stopped thinking about it.

“What are your plans when you get to Oslo?”