A Basket of Kittens and Three Million Dollars

Just do it already!

Ah! What the— Emma? You’re home early. How long have you been on the line?

Long enough to hear you pick up the phone, sigh mournfully, debate if you should call Becca, and then hang up thirty-two times.

… It wasn’t that many times.

You’re right. It was more like ninety-two.

It wasn’t— Are you in the basement?

How did you know?

Because that’s the location of the only other phone in this house.

Oh, right. If you already knew where I was, why did you ask?

It wasn’t an inquiry so much as an expression of my shock and bafflement.

Why are you shocked and baffled?

Because you’re in my basement—

Our basement.

—My basement, a place that you, and I quote, would never, ever enter even if Keanu Reeves was waiting for you with a basket of kittens and three million dollars.

… That doesn’t sound like me at all.

Does the subsequent six months of me hauling your laundry down there, washing it, drying it, and hauling it back up also not sound like you?

Not even a little bit. I could never endure the experience of some dude sorting through my underwear and hanging each of my bras on a clothesline.

I don’t sort through your underwear because I don’t sort through any of it.

Jacob! Are you telling me you have not been separating my clothes before you wash them this whole time? You’ve just been throwing it all in one load?

Of course I have! It’s bad enough I’m doing your laundry because you’re too chicken to go into a perfectly nice, very well-lit, non-serial killer basement. There’s no way I was gonna sort through your dirty underwear. How did you think it was getting done so fast?

You told me you read that Martha Stewart Living at the dentist’s office about some trick she uses to get all her clothes… Wow. I can’t believe I fell for that.

Yeaaah, that one’s on you.

So I’m guessing you also don’t hang my bras on the clothesline?

Nope. The top of the dryer gets extremely hot, possibly because it’s the original dryer from the 1800’s. I just pile all the bras on top and let the machine do the rest.

Huh. That’s actually…sort of brilliant. Sneaky. A bit shameful. A lot how-dare-you-not-separate-my-whites-and-colors. But brilliant.

I figured it was only fair since your idea of an equal exchange did not actually mean a home-cooked meal on laundry day as promised.

You are the only person on earth who does not consider mac and cheese to be a home-cooked meal. 

It’s boxed Kraft mac and cheese, Emma. Just because you cook it at home does not make it a homemade dish. 

Then they should call it something else. 

Yes. Clearly, they are the idiots. 

Only an idiot would think macaroni shaped like Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck’s faces is a bad thing. 

I never said that Looney Tunes macaroni was a bad thing. I think it tastes fine. If you like spongey noodle bits doused in an orange powder biohazard disguising itself as cheese.

How is that any worse than the Hot Pockets you are currently serving yourself for dinner?

… How do you know I’m eating Hot Pockets?

One, I can smell them. The basement is not that far from the kitchen, and I’m pretty sure even the neighbors can smell them. Two, this is what you always do when you and Becca break up. You listen to depressing music, then shuffle into the kitchen to rummage around for Hot Pockets. While they’re nuking, you pick up the phone to call her, let out a very loud, pathetic sigh, silently talk yourself out of doing it, and then hang up. Then, you repeat this move several more times until the microwave beeps. 

I do not.

It’s your breakup ritual. Seeing as you and Becca have broken up and gotten back together at least two dozen times in the last six months, I am more than familiar with the sounds and smells that accompany your heartbreak.

Let me get this straight. You heard Becca and I broke up—

Again.

—again, and snuck down to the basement you hate just so you could sit with the phone to your ear and listen to me sigh and nuke Hot Pockets?

No. I snuck down to the basement I hate to get as far as I could from the twenty-seventh rendition of Everybody Hurts wailing through the house at max volume while I put tiny braids in my hair.

… Sorry. I didn’t know you were home.

You probably didn’t hear me come in an hour ago because your melancholy music was so—

I get it. I’ll turn it down next time. 

Look. I know you’re hurting right now, but this thing with Becca has to stop. Like, for real this time. I don’t understand why you keep getting back together. She’s never treated you right. Do you just really enjoy vicious, perpetuating cycles or something?

Why should I take relationship advice from some girl who forced herself into my spare bedroom six months ago and also is not, and has not been, in a serious relationship for the better part of a year?

Okay, first of all. I date. Plenty. I just don’t talk about it.

Uh-huh. 

Second of all, there was no force required. Your brother said I could move in. You needed someone to cover the other half of the rent, and I needed somewhere to live. And third, as your fiancé-in-law, I think I’m entitled to—

Ugh, will you stop calling yourself that? It makes zero sense!

It makes total sense! My sister is engaged to your brother. 

That doesn’t mean— Whatever. You could have moved in with a friend or something after Jeremy and Kaitlyn ditched us and got their own place together.

And leave you in a desperate, frantic search for a better roommate than moi? Never. We are family now, Jacob. And families help one another—

God, stop. Please. I’ve done nothing to deserve this. And my day has already gone bad enough. Have you no compassion?

You’re about to make it a whole lot worse with those Rot Pockets.

I’m hanging up now. 

Wait! Don’t hang up.

Emma, this is stupid. We’re talking on the phone one floor away from each other. Just come up to the kitchen. You can insult my eating habits here.

I think I’ll stay, actually. The basement is kind of growing on me.

Really…

Yeah. You were right, it is very well-lit. The couch is super comfy, the whole room smells like clean, unsorted laundry. Plus, my favorite show is on so—

What? There’s no TV in the basement.

Uh…well, there wasn’t.

Did you…buy a TV? On your meager librarian salary?

No.

… You stole my TV!

I did not!

I just walked into the living room, and there’s a big square outline in the layer of dust where my TV used to be!

The cord on the kitchen phone is way too long.

Why did you steal my TV?

I did not steal it. I borrowed it.

How did you even get it down to the basement?

Did I not mention the R.E.M. on repeat?

Wow… I’m kind of impressed. The thing weighs two tons.

I was highly motivated.

So do I have to watch TV in my basement now?

No. You can just bring it back up later.

Why can’t you do it?

Because my arms are now made of spaghetti. Without the mourning music to flood my system with adrenaline-fueled rage there’s not a chance I can lift that thing.

Emma? You are one of a kind.

Thank you.

That was not a compliment.

Felt like one.

You take everything everyone says as a compliment.

As if! Remember that time Becca said my hair looked nice, and I almost shoved her into traffic?

I still don’t get that. She gave you an actual compliment, but you took it as an insult. 

It was an insult. It was the way she said it. Oh, hi Emma. Wow, your hair looks, um…nice.

She did not say it like that. And her voice doesn’t sound like Minnie Mouse. 

She was being a jerk. Ask any other woman, and she’ll tell you the same thing. It’s called passive aggression. Every mean girl’s weapon of choice.

Well, you guys never got along.

I tried to! I am always super nice to her.

I don’t know about super nice…

I am always perfectly polite to her.

Warmer.

I am always…civil. Ish.

Better. No, you’re right. I may not have understood whatever issues you guys had, but I never felt like you were trying to be anything but cordial even if you didn’t exactly try to be her friend. 

It’s hard to be friends with someone whose best and only friend is herself.

What do you mean by that?

I think you know, Jacob.

… Yeah. She’s always had a hard time getting along with other girls. Her expectations can be… But with me, she was never like that. She was warmer, softer. Sweeter, you know?

Sweet is stomping on your heart twice a month? Sending you spiraling into an alarming cycle of scarfing Hot Pockets and crying to Whitney Houston?

You always paint such flattering pictures of me. 

I’m just saying. So why did she end it this time? Did you leave the toilet seat up? Did you accidentally take a sip of her extra hot, double-shot, nonfat, no-foam, double-cupped vanilla latte with two pumps of vanilla syrup and a sprinkle of cinnamon? Or did you—?

Actually…I ended it.

… You did?

Yes.

For real?

Yes.

For good? Or is this just another—

No, it’s over. For good this time.

But…why? You were so in love with her. For years! Since, like, the sixth grade! You swore you would never break things off with her, no matter what.

Well, that changed.

What changed?

Emma, look. We may have figured out how to get along over these last six months—barely—once you stopped leaving the milk out, and I quit walking around without a shirt, but that doesn’t exactly make us friends. 

We’re not friends, we’re fam—

Emma.

We…we’re not friends?

Emma… It’s just…

Yikes. I-I’m sorry for assuming that we— I mean, I know you didn’t want me to move in, and I didn’t want to either, and we sort of had to, and there was a lot of shouting and maybe some Yoohoo theft in the beginning, but I thought we had sort of…

No, Em. It’s not that. We are…friends. 

You can’t even say it.

I can. We’re friends, alright?

Jacob, it’s fine. I wasn’t trying to— I mean, I get it. It’s okay. I’m your brother’s fiancé’s sister, who forced herself into your spare bedroom and stole your TV. I never truly imagined I’d be anything more than that. And I shouldn’t have pried about you and Becca. Or teased you. I just…

Just what?

Nothing. It doesn’t matter. I’m sorry about your breakup. I know you two have a long history, and I so get the sad music and everything now. I mean, that it was more intense than usual. Totally makes sense.

Actually, I wasn’t—

I’ll, um, stop talking to you from the other room like a psycho. And I think if I rig a complex system of knotted sheets and blankets I can drag the TV up the stairs and—

No, it’s fine. I’ll get it later. And you don’t have to hang up. 

But it is ridiculous to be doing this. 

Out of the six months we’ve roomed together, this is the least ridiculous thing we’ve ever done.

Fair point. But you probably want to get back to your dinner so—

What are you watching?

What?

You said your favorite show is on. Let me guess—Fresh Prince?

No.

Ah. Boy Meets World, then.

It is a rich emotional drama, Jacob! With important life lessons and buckets of teenage wisdom.

Uh-huh.

Besides, I’m only watching it until my favorite movie comes on.

While You Were Sleeping?

A favorite, but wrong genre.

Independence Day.

Hey, not bad. I didn’t think you paid that much attention.

Hard not to when you hog the TV most nights.

Oh, please. I hog the TV every night. 

Haha! Can I, uh…watch it with you?

Oh. Don’t you want to...wallow in your misery? Curl up under the covers with your Barf Pockets and listen to Bryan Adams?

If you don’t want me to watch it with you, you can just say so.

No! It’s not that. I just don’t want you to feel like you have to, you know, spend time with me or anything. Like, if that makes you feel weird or— 

Emma, stop. I’m sorry about what I said before. I just meant that— We are friends, okay? In fact, friendship is kind of the problem. Or at least, it was.

What are you talking about?

Becca wasn’t… Look, the reason I ended it with her was because she…said some things. Things I needed to hear, but also some…unforgivable things. 

About what?

About… a friend of mine.

A friend?

Yeah. She made it clear to me that she had a problem with this particular friendship.

Okay… Which particular person? All of your friends that I’ve met are cool guys. I mean, Teddy can be a little obnoxious, but his name is Teddy so I expect nothing less—

It’s not one of the guys.

Then who?

… A girl. 

A girl… 

Yes. She’s my friend, and nothing has ever happened between us, not even close. We mostly drive each other crazy. But I didn’t know how Becca felt about it. She never said anything, and she seemed cool with it, mostly. But I think I might have overlooked some of the signs because I was enjoying the friendship so much. I’ve known this girl for a long time, but I didn’t realize how much she meant to me as a friend until recently. Our friendship is…special to me, and I didn’t want to let it go. Not even to make my girlfriend happy.

Oh. Well… I’m sorry that happened. I’m kind of surprised she was so jealous. I mean, I’m not surprised. Even I’m a tiny bit jealous you’re friends with some cool chick, but Becca should know you’re not the kind of guy to betray your girlfriend. 

See, that’s the thing. I didn’t think I was betraying Becca, but she pointed some things out to me, and I realized…in many ways I did. She said that I was doing more for my friend than I was doing for her. Going out of my way for her, doing things without being asked just to make her smile. That I stopped sounding disappointed if she had to cancel a date because I’d just go hang out with my friend. 

Man. I guess I can see how that would suck for her. 

Yeah. I apologized up and down. I hadn’t realized how I was treating her. It’s not like there was some clear starting point for me. It was just happening, and I wasn’t paying attention. Anyway, Becca wouldn’t accept the apology. And then she got angry and began saying things about my friend that were just… not cool. Totally over the line. And suddenly, breaking up with her felt…not easy, but right. Then it hit me. 

… What hit you? 

That I…don’t just like my friend. I love her. Really love her. And I think I love her because I like her. She’s all I think about. And it’s not just because she’s beautiful. I wonder how her day is going. I think about food I can bring her on the way home from work that would make her eyes light up. I think about the different faces she makes when we watch movies, especially the part where Will Smith punches the alien. I love everything she says and everything she does, even when it makes no sense, which is often. I love the way she smells when she walks past me in the kitchen every morning. How she can’t function, like, at all before coffee that is mostly creamer. How her mouth sort of slowly unzips from one side to the other when she smiles. How she once went out of her way to memorize my girlfriend’s insane coffee order just so she could bring her Starbucks when she was home with a broken foot, even though Becca never treated her very nicely. I love how much she loves her job at the library and that she can’t read analog clocks to save her life.

Jacob…

She’s perfect. In every way. And once I realized how much I felt for her I fought it. I thought it would be too messy—we’re roommates, our siblings are getting married. So I tried to miss Becca. Tried to want her back or at least feel sad about us being over for good, but it didn’t matter how many times I listened to my music, I didn’t feel any of those things. I only wanted to call my best friend and tell her what happened, just like I always want to call her and tell her things. The way she does with me. So I heat up some food while I debate whether or not I should call her at the library just to hear her voice, only to realize she’s already home.

Oh, Jacob.

So, I’ll ask again, Emma. Can I come down and watch the movie with you?

... I think you should hurry, Jacob. It’s just getting to the good part.