“Do it yourself? Neither are you.”
“In all fairness, no, I don’t have a lot of home improvement skills but I’d like to learn. I watch those tutorials on how to strip and paint a bench from a yard sale and stuff and I’d like to try it.”
“You watch videos about benches? Honey, you need something better to look forward to than that.”
“What do you suggest I do?”
“Find yourself a nice video with Ryan Gosling in it.”
“You are impossible.” Britt shook her head and finished her latte.
“I like this first one.”
“Me, too, but I think the kitchen’s too small. What if I had to assemble a lasagna or something. There’s no space on the worktops.”
“What are the odds that you’ll be assembling a lasagna? Are you counting taking one out of the freezer as assembly?”
“No, I’ve been watching these cooking shows and—”
“We have to get you premium channels. You’re watching lasagnas and benches, and you think you like it. There’s more out there. Movies, shows about zombies and shit.”
“I’ll stick to the cooking. You can have the zombies and shit.”
“Thanks. What about the third one?”
“It’s my favorite. It has a rooftop garden. We could have one of those tables with the market umbrella, and we could eat antipasto and watch the sun set.”
“If that’s your fantasy, go for it.”
“What?”
“It’s just that Kevin doesn’t seem like the antipasto at sunset type, unless he’s playing on his phone in the fantasy. He has a serious problem with the phone addiction.”
“Says the woman who calls Siri her BFF?”
“She knows everything! Besides, you know she can’t replace you.”
“I think if I set the scene, maybe some terracotta pots with flowering plants or herbs in them, a chilled bottle of white wine, fresh blood oranges...”
“Is this a fantasy about Kevin or a fantasy about living in a magazine spread about Tuscany?”
“It’s my house fantasy, ‘kay? Let me have it. This may be my last chance to think about it. He may hate the idea of the roof garden.”
“Only if he has to climb stairs or anything else that requires putting down his phone. Seriously, Britt, I’m not sure you’ve thought this through. Do you want to live with someone like that?”
“He’s perfectly fine. He remembers my birthday, and he always calls if he’s running late. What more could a girl want?”
“Attention. Excitement. Someone with a personality.”
“He has a personality.”
“Liking his phone and being afraid of olives is not a personality.”
“He isn’t afraid of them. He just doesn’t like them.”
“He practically laid an egg when the waiter put olives in his martini last week. I mean, what did he think came in a martini? A whole pineapple?”
“Okay, so I can forget antipasto...but he’s a great guy, and we’re going to have a fabulous life.”