Page 118 of You've Got Hate Mail
Watching Cricket’s journey—it’s reminded me why I’m here too.
WhyIneed this place.
What I’m missing out on when I hide myself away.
“I’d appreciate if you can let her stay in your basement a while longer,” Mabel says.
Apparently part oflivingis recognizing that I’m forcing the unhappiness about it to mask how terrified I am of how much Idolike her. “You’re the boss.”
“She seems to have settled in nicely there, but if you told me it was impossible, I’d make other arrangements.”
I gesture to the floor. “Got that covered myself.”
“Ah. So that’s why you’re back in here today.”
“Needs to be done. She’ll be more comfortable here.”
“Did she tell you that, or are you making an assumption?”
“It’s a safe assumption.”
“Like it would be a safe assumption for me to think the real issue with the way you feel about Cricket is that you’re afraid of letting anyone see you vulnerable too?”
My molars clench together. Acknowledging to myself what I’m doing by denying how much I like Cricket doesn’t mean acknowledging it to Mabel. “I don’t feel anything about Cricket.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what the way you look at her says. I’ll let you get back to work. It would be nice if Caro and Mike can stay here when they come out next weekend to talk wedding plans. Oh, and Cricket found Aunt Pip’s latest hiding spot for Fluffy’s food. You should probably check Lav’s room for Spam. That’s what was in the latest hiding spot.”
Spam.
Of course it’s Spam.
Mabel cracks a smile. “Ironic, isn’t it? We house women who have gone viral and gotten hate mail, and my aunt’s sneaking Spam into the house.”
That shouldn’t make my eyes water, but it does.
Fluffy needs to lose weight.
Lav probably needs more boundaries.
Being the only guy here, even a guy who grew up with conversations about vaginas at the dinner table, is sometimes uncomfortable.
But this ishome.
And Mabel’s offering to fix it so we can stay.
So that Pip can keep sneaking Velveeta and Spam and cheese puffs and ground beef to Lav for the cat.
So that it can stayhome, with all of its chaos, but also all of its love.
All of its family.
“Let me know if you need help,” Mabel adds. “Cricket looked like she needed to take a sledgehammer to something when I saw her a few minutes ago.”
“This floor doesn’t need a sledgehammer, and even if it did, I’m not giving her one.”
“Have you ever watched her videos? The real ones from her job? She’s far more put together than she seemed at first here, and I think she’s getting back to her normal equilibrium. Also, she’s used a sledgehammer before. Very well, in fact.”
Now I’m imagining Cricket in a hardhat and safety glasses, massive gloves, overalls and a flannel, handling a sledgehammer like a pro, and my goddamn cock is waking up.
