Sincerely, Carter
Page 4
“Scott dumped me!”
“What?”
“HE. DUMPED. ME!” She huffed. “But you know what? I’ll call and tell you about it tomorrow after I calm down. I don’t want Emily accusing you of having phone sex with me.”
“Emily actually just left.” I searched for my car keys. “We can talk.”
“Oh my god, let me tell you then!” Her coherent speech ended right there. Whenever she was discussing a breakup, there was an endless tirade of cursing and “What a goddamn asshole,” “He didn’t deserve me!” “He’s going to miss me!” woes before she ever started to sound intelligible.
“Ari…” I said after she called him a dickhead for the umpteenth time. “Just tell me what happened.”
“Right…” She took a deep breath. “He came back with the condoms, and we were suddenly half naked, kissing, and we were close to going there—so close…But, those weird vibes came back, so I told him to stop and that I wasn’t ready. I said I needed a little more time to make sure I was doing the right thing. Then I said, ‘Besides, Carter thinks that I should—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” I stopped, finally locating my car keys. “You brought me up?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I? I told him what you said about me being one hundred percent sure before I slept with someone. Then he said, ‘Okay, that’s it. We’re over. Get the hell out.’”
“He did not tell you to get the hell out, Ari. You’re exaggerating.”
“He did!” She sounded livid all over again. “As a matter of fact, when I was walking out, he said that since I always have to go ask for your advice about everything, that I should just go and fuck you.”
Silence.
At the same time, we both burst into hysterical laughter.
“No offense,” I said, still laughing. “But I would never fuck you, let alone put up with you in a relationship.”
“You mean, I would never put up with you. Not only are you the worst boyfriend in the history of boyfriends, you’re also not my type.”
“Clearly.” I opened the ‘track-current-caller’ app on my phone. “Exceptionally sexy, muscular in all the right places, and the ability to make any woman want to sleep with me after a first date are somehow all unfortunate qualities in your mind.”
“Seriously? Are you listening to yourself right now?” She scoffed. “Please. For the record, my qualities are far better and weed out the one-track minded men like yourself: Smart, witty, and talented with something other than my tongue.”
“You left out your best quality.”
“Which one?”
“The permanent ‘not interested in fucking’ label etched onto your forehead.”
She laughed, and I heard a light knock at the door.
“Hold on a second.” I held the phone to my chest and walked to the front door, hoping it wasn’t Emily.
It wasn’t.
It was Ari, puffy red eyes and all.
“Can I spend the night on your couch since Emily left?” she asked, stepping inside. “It doesn’t make sense for me to go all the way back home at this hour, and I’m sort of offended that you didn’t at least offer me a ride since I clearly said Scott kicked me out. You know his apartment isn’t that far from here.”
“I was actually getting ready to come get you.” I ended our call.
“Sure you were.” Her eyes veered to my arm. “You got another tattoo?” She touched my sleeve, tracing the latest addition—another branch of Latin phrases on my overgrown cypress tree. “When was this?”
“Last week. I told you I was considering it.”
“Considering, not actually getting…” She traced it again. “I like it. Although, you’re definitely going to have to wear suits for most of your professional life. No one wants to hire a lawyer with a sleeve full of tattoos.”
“So you say.” I grabbed a blanket from the hallway closet and handed it to her. “You can take my room. I’ll sleep out here. I need to think.”
“About how to break up with Emily?”
“No, that’s already done. She overheard our conversation and dumped me right before you called.”
“Wow. What a suck-fest day for the both of us….” She frowned, but then she quickly snapped back into her usual upbeat self. “You want to grab a late breakfast this Saturday at Gayle’s?”
“Sure. Noon?”
“Actually, could we do one o’clock?” She started walking to my room. “I have a bikini wax appointment at noon.”
“Why are you waxing the one part of your body that no one ever sees?”
“I see it.”
“Hmmm. So, is that the real reason you wanted to postpone sleeping with Scott tonight? Because you had a bush you didn’t want him to see?”
“What? What did you say?”
“I know you, Ari.” I smirked. “And you definitely heard me…Is that the real reason?”
“Carter…”
“I’ve known you since what? Fifth grade?”
“Fourth grade.”
“Same thing,” I said, noticing a slight redness on her cheeks. “You can tell me. I’m not going to judge you. I’ll just suggest you keep your bush trimmed regularly instead of worrying about waxing it all off at the last minute.”
“Even if I had a bush,” she said, rolling her eyes, “which I don’t, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t make that the main reasoning behind not having sex with someone—my boyfriend especially, at the last minute.”
“Good,” I said. “Because most guys—guys like me, honestly don’t care about that. And seeing as though you probably won’t be having sex for another eight months, I’m just trying to save you some money. Maybe take the money you’ll be spending on a wax this weekend and buy a better vibrator instead?”
She slammed the door to my room, and I laughed until I fell asleep.
Track 2. Wildest Dreams. (3:54)
Why don’t they tell you that the major you declare your sophomore year may be the one subject you end up loathing by your senior year? And how can people honestly expect a nineteen year old to know what she wants to do for the rest of her life and be happy with her decision?
Ridiculous…
Somewhere between Small Business Accounting and Tax Law 101 my junior year, I realized that I hated business only slightly less than I hated the idea of working in an office for the rest of my life. Even though I could draft a spreadsheet and integrate statistics like no one else could, I was bored. Excruciatingly and utterly bored.
I didn’t realize my true passion in life until I started baking “Fuck this major” cupcakes to cope with an intense tax law class. I’d brought them to a study group and they were devoured by my classmates in seconds, so I made more. Then I started branching out and making other things.
At first, I mastered the simple treats—different cupcakes, cookies, and brownies. Then I started to attempt the more intricate recipes: frosted éclairs, upside down sorbet style crescents, stuffed cream waffles.
“What?”
“HE. DUMPED. ME!” She huffed. “But you know what? I’ll call and tell you about it tomorrow after I calm down. I don’t want Emily accusing you of having phone sex with me.”
“Emily actually just left.” I searched for my car keys. “We can talk.”
“Oh my god, let me tell you then!” Her coherent speech ended right there. Whenever she was discussing a breakup, there was an endless tirade of cursing and “What a goddamn asshole,” “He didn’t deserve me!” “He’s going to miss me!” woes before she ever started to sound intelligible.
“Ari…” I said after she called him a dickhead for the umpteenth time. “Just tell me what happened.”
“Right…” She took a deep breath. “He came back with the condoms, and we were suddenly half naked, kissing, and we were close to going there—so close…But, those weird vibes came back, so I told him to stop and that I wasn’t ready. I said I needed a little more time to make sure I was doing the right thing. Then I said, ‘Besides, Carter thinks that I should—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa…” I stopped, finally locating my car keys. “You brought me up?”
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I? I told him what you said about me being one hundred percent sure before I slept with someone. Then he said, ‘Okay, that’s it. We’re over. Get the hell out.’”
“He did not tell you to get the hell out, Ari. You’re exaggerating.”
“He did!” She sounded livid all over again. “As a matter of fact, when I was walking out, he said that since I always have to go ask for your advice about everything, that I should just go and fuck you.”
Silence.
At the same time, we both burst into hysterical laughter.
“No offense,” I said, still laughing. “But I would never fuck you, let alone put up with you in a relationship.”
“You mean, I would never put up with you. Not only are you the worst boyfriend in the history of boyfriends, you’re also not my type.”
“Clearly.” I opened the ‘track-current-caller’ app on my phone. “Exceptionally sexy, muscular in all the right places, and the ability to make any woman want to sleep with me after a first date are somehow all unfortunate qualities in your mind.”
“Seriously? Are you listening to yourself right now?” She scoffed. “Please. For the record, my qualities are far better and weed out the one-track minded men like yourself: Smart, witty, and talented with something other than my tongue.”
“You left out your best quality.”
“Which one?”
“The permanent ‘not interested in fucking’ label etched onto your forehead.”
She laughed, and I heard a light knock at the door.
“Hold on a second.” I held the phone to my chest and walked to the front door, hoping it wasn’t Emily.
It wasn’t.
It was Ari, puffy red eyes and all.
“Can I spend the night on your couch since Emily left?” she asked, stepping inside. “It doesn’t make sense for me to go all the way back home at this hour, and I’m sort of offended that you didn’t at least offer me a ride since I clearly said Scott kicked me out. You know his apartment isn’t that far from here.”
“I was actually getting ready to come get you.” I ended our call.
“Sure you were.” Her eyes veered to my arm. “You got another tattoo?” She touched my sleeve, tracing the latest addition—another branch of Latin phrases on my overgrown cypress tree. “When was this?”
“Last week. I told you I was considering it.”
“Considering, not actually getting…” She traced it again. “I like it. Although, you’re definitely going to have to wear suits for most of your professional life. No one wants to hire a lawyer with a sleeve full of tattoos.”
“So you say.” I grabbed a blanket from the hallway closet and handed it to her. “You can take my room. I’ll sleep out here. I need to think.”
“About how to break up with Emily?”
“No, that’s already done. She overheard our conversation and dumped me right before you called.”
“Wow. What a suck-fest day for the both of us….” She frowned, but then she quickly snapped back into her usual upbeat self. “You want to grab a late breakfast this Saturday at Gayle’s?”
“Sure. Noon?”
“Actually, could we do one o’clock?” She started walking to my room. “I have a bikini wax appointment at noon.”
“Why are you waxing the one part of your body that no one ever sees?”
“I see it.”
“Hmmm. So, is that the real reason you wanted to postpone sleeping with Scott tonight? Because you had a bush you didn’t want him to see?”
“What? What did you say?”
“I know you, Ari.” I smirked. “And you definitely heard me…Is that the real reason?”
“Carter…”
“I’ve known you since what? Fifth grade?”
“Fourth grade.”
“Same thing,” I said, noticing a slight redness on her cheeks. “You can tell me. I’m not going to judge you. I’ll just suggest you keep your bush trimmed regularly instead of worrying about waxing it all off at the last minute.”
“Even if I had a bush,” she said, rolling her eyes, “which I don’t, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t make that the main reasoning behind not having sex with someone—my boyfriend especially, at the last minute.”
“Good,” I said. “Because most guys—guys like me, honestly don’t care about that. And seeing as though you probably won’t be having sex for another eight months, I’m just trying to save you some money. Maybe take the money you’ll be spending on a wax this weekend and buy a better vibrator instead?”
She slammed the door to my room, and I laughed until I fell asleep.
Track 2. Wildest Dreams. (3:54)
Why don’t they tell you that the major you declare your sophomore year may be the one subject you end up loathing by your senior year? And how can people honestly expect a nineteen year old to know what she wants to do for the rest of her life and be happy with her decision?
Ridiculous…
Somewhere between Small Business Accounting and Tax Law 101 my junior year, I realized that I hated business only slightly less than I hated the idea of working in an office for the rest of my life. Even though I could draft a spreadsheet and integrate statistics like no one else could, I was bored. Excruciatingly and utterly bored.
I didn’t realize my true passion in life until I started baking “Fuck this major” cupcakes to cope with an intense tax law class. I’d brought them to a study group and they were devoured by my classmates in seconds, so I made more. Then I started branching out and making other things.
At first, I mastered the simple treats—different cupcakes, cookies, and brownies. Then I started to attempt the more intricate recipes: frosted éclairs, upside down sorbet style crescents, stuffed cream waffles.
