there in over two years? I just got one yesterday.”
“That sucks,” I say, making a mental note to call Guitar Center tomorrow.
“I just wish I could stop thinking about him, you know?” she says. “When do you think I’ll stop thinking about him?”
I try to formulate a response, but I can’t. I don’t think that she will ever stop thinking of him, much in the way my father never stops thinking about his own father, who died when I was only three years old.
“It’s okay to think about him,” I say. “You loved him, he loved you. He was brilliant, and an amazing musician and songwriter. Hugely talented. Can’t we remember him for that?”
“I guess so,” Chloe says. “Hey, this is weird.”
“What’s weird?” I say, blanket still over my head.
“Check out the comment section.”
“What is it?” I say as I sit up and look at the computer screen.
“The number keeps going up,” Chloe says. I look at the number of guest comments and Chloe’s right. The number keeps going higher and higher, faster and faster, right before my eyes.
“Something must be broken,” I say, hitting whatever keys on my computer that I can. “It says it has ninety-seven comments.”
“Hey, look,” Chloe says. “This one says ‘Amen, sister,’ too!”
“People are actually posting comments?”
I click back to the link for guest comments and Chloe is right—this is not a mistake. The blog has already gotten ninety-seven comments and the count is growing by the second.
Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, one hundred and one, one hundred and two...
14 - Wanna Be Startin’ Something?
“Do you like pizza?” I ask Max, the number-one IT guy at Chloe’s ad agency. He’s at the loft since Chloe begged him to come by and fix my computer after it crashed this morning. Apparently it wasn’t equipped to deal with the volume of responses I downloaded from my blog. I’m supposed to be making him lunch for his services, which is fair, since he’s doing it for me on his lunch break.
When Max walked in, I almost laughed out loud. He looked like he came straight from Central Casting for the role of dorky computer guy: sandy long hair half pulled back into a ponytail with the sides falling over his overgrown sideburns, black horn-rimmed glasses, and a short-sleeved button-down shirt and khakis. You can tell these are his “I work in an office” khakis that he only wears Monday through Friday, from the hours of 9 A.M. to 5 P.M.
Totally not my type. Which doesn’t matter at all, since I’m not looking for anyone new right now. Especially now. Now that I’ve sworn off love and encouraged 2,500 people in the tristate area to do likewise.
But still, I find myself wondering why Chloe never dated Max, because there’s something about him that I instantly like.
“Who doesn’t like pizza?” he says with a laugh. “But you know, I was promised a homemade lunch for my services.”
“Oh, don’t worry. They’ll make it from scratch over at Mario’s,” I tell him with a sly smile. The phone rings and I pick it up.
“Is this some sort of a joke, Jo?” my father says.
“Hi, Daddy,” I murmur into the phone as I turn my back to Max.
“This computer thing you’ve written, is it a joke?” he asks. “Why are you so angry?”
I’m wondering how my dad even saw the blog. He barely knows how to operate a computer. I ask him as much.
“Barbie printed it out for me,” he says. How very helpful of her , I think. “She’s worried about you.”
“No,” I say. “She’s just worried about having a deranged bridesmaid walk down her aisle.”
My father is not amused. “It really doesn’t matter why she printed it for me,” he says. “What matters is why you wrote it.”
“I don’t know why I wrote it,” I whisper into the phone, hoping, for some reason, that Max cannot hear me. “But you don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”
“This is not the sort of behavior a person who is
“That sucks,” I say, making a mental note to call Guitar Center tomorrow.
“I just wish I could stop thinking about him, you know?” she says. “When do you think I’ll stop thinking about him?”
I try to formulate a response, but I can’t. I don’t think that she will ever stop thinking of him, much in the way my father never stops thinking about his own father, who died when I was only three years old.
“It’s okay to think about him,” I say. “You loved him, he loved you. He was brilliant, and an amazing musician and songwriter. Hugely talented. Can’t we remember him for that?”
“I guess so,” Chloe says. “Hey, this is weird.”
“What’s weird?” I say, blanket still over my head.
“Check out the comment section.”
“What is it?” I say as I sit up and look at the computer screen.
“The number keeps going up,” Chloe says. I look at the number of guest comments and Chloe’s right. The number keeps going higher and higher, faster and faster, right before my eyes.
“Something must be broken,” I say, hitting whatever keys on my computer that I can. “It says it has ninety-seven comments.”
“Hey, look,” Chloe says. “This one says ‘Amen, sister,’ too!”
“People are actually posting comments?”
I click back to the link for guest comments and Chloe is right—this is not a mistake. The blog has already gotten ninety-seven comments and the count is growing by the second.
Ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred, one hundred and one, one hundred and two...
14 - Wanna Be Startin’ Something?
“Do you like pizza?” I ask Max, the number-one IT guy at Chloe’s ad agency. He’s at the loft since Chloe begged him to come by and fix my computer after it crashed this morning. Apparently it wasn’t equipped to deal with the volume of responses I downloaded from my blog. I’m supposed to be making him lunch for his services, which is fair, since he’s doing it for me on his lunch break.
When Max walked in, I almost laughed out loud. He looked like he came straight from Central Casting for the role of dorky computer guy: sandy long hair half pulled back into a ponytail with the sides falling over his overgrown sideburns, black horn-rimmed glasses, and a short-sleeved button-down shirt and khakis. You can tell these are his “I work in an office” khakis that he only wears Monday through Friday, from the hours of 9 A.M. to 5 P.M.
Totally not my type. Which doesn’t matter at all, since I’m not looking for anyone new right now. Especially now. Now that I’ve sworn off love and encouraged 2,500 people in the tristate area to do likewise.
But still, I find myself wondering why Chloe never dated Max, because there’s something about him that I instantly like.
“Who doesn’t like pizza?” he says with a laugh. “But you know, I was promised a homemade lunch for my services.”
“Oh, don’t worry. They’ll make it from scratch over at Mario’s,” I tell him with a sly smile. The phone rings and I pick it up.
“Is this some sort of a joke, Jo?” my father says.
“Hi, Daddy,” I murmur into the phone as I turn my back to Max.
“This computer thing you’ve written, is it a joke?” he asks. “Why are you so angry?”
I’m wondering how my dad even saw the blog. He barely knows how to operate a computer. I ask him as much.
“Barbie printed it out for me,” he says. How very helpful of her , I think. “She’s worried about you.”
“No,” I say. “She’s just worried about having a deranged bridesmaid walk down her aisle.”
My father is not amused. “It really doesn’t matter why she printed it for me,” he says. “What matters is why you wrote it.”
“I don’t know why I wrote it,” I whisper into the phone, hoping, for some reason, that Max cannot hear me. “But you don’t have to worry about me. I’m fine.”
“This is not the sort of behavior a person who is
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