Broken Carts ✔️

Aisle 5: Questions

Lynette was equal parts caring and abrasive with a dash of unhinged thrown in the mix. She changed into a pair of five-inch heels after work and ordered an espresso drink I'd never heard of with extra cinnamon on top of extra whipped cream. I got black coffee and burnt my tongue.

"If it's about 'Ra, you can tell me," she said moments after we sat down with our drinks. "I won't say anything to him."

I wanted to deny her claim, but the words spilled out on their own emotionally-charged wave. "Fuck, I don't know. I guess it's because of all the shit that went down on Friday. Because Ezra and I–" I couldn't quite admit it to myself yet, so my sentence fizzled out. "You, uh, you know what happened... and, well, now I think he hates me. And I don't want that." I paused. "Does he hate me? It seems like he hates me." Lynette didn't answer. Instead, she took out her phone and started typing. I looked at her anxiously as she remained silent. "What are you doing?"

"Asking 'Ra if he hates you."

My jaw dropped. "Shit, don't do that–"

"It's making you, like, depressed. So I'm clearing it up for you." Her phone vibrated. She read the text, then peered up at me. My wide eyes screamed in desperation. "Wanna know what he said, or..."

"Yes, Jesus, just tell me."

"He hates you." My heart sank. It must've shown on my face, because Lynette laughed. "I'm kidding, God! Take a fuckin' joke. Of course he doesn't hate you, idiot."

I sighed, feeling relieved. "Did he say anything else?"

"He's typing." Vibration. "Okay, here it is. 'No, I don't hate him'... you know that part... 'I'm fucking embarrassed about what happened at the Rock though.' He's typing again... 'Are you with him or something?' Oh, shit, am I really that obvious?"

"Embarrassed?" I asked incredulously. "He's embarrassed? I'm mortified."

"Wow, maybe you two should talk it over or something," Lynette said sarcastically.

I shook my head vigorously. "I hardly know him."

"You know him well enough to mack on him all night."

"Lynette," I cried as she snickered. "It was a way to get back at you for pranking him at that party. A revenge prank." Making out in his bed while no one was watching? Definitely a prank! I thought, thwarting all efforts to discard that memory.

Lynette crinkled up her face. "Yeah, about that." She took a long sip of her coffee before continuing. "I didn't kiss you for a prank. It was a dare. 'Ra dared me."

Color drained from my cheeks. "Why... why would he dare you to kiss me?"

"It was funny, really," she recalled, a grin on her face. "'Ra met you at the bar that one night and thought you were attractive." I nodded slowly, pretending I already knew while my guts twisted into tiny, tiny knots. "He was weird about it, too, 'cause he knew you were younger and you were gonna be working with us. But at that party he couldn't stop looking at you, so I told him to go start a conversation like a normal human being. And I said it'd be easy to make out with you if he just fuckin' tried, and then he was all, 'if it's so easy, then I dare you to make out with him!' And I was like, 'mkay, no problem.' So I did it, and afterwards I was like, 'if I can make out with the hot twink, then you can make out with the hot twink.'"

"Twink?" I exclaimed, much louder than intended, causing a passing mother to usher her small children to a table on the other side of the cafe.

Lynette looked puzzled. "What, you identify as a different stereotype of the gay community?"

"I'm not a twink," I interjected. "I'm not... I'm not even gay. I'm straight."