Love Is for Losers by Wibke Brueggemann (ebook pc reader .txt) 📗

and Household Management and sent it to Emma.

It’s for chicken soup, and because in order to make that soup, you also need to know how to prepare the stock, which is in a different section, I sent her that, too.

She replied straightaway:

Not actually that ill. I’d kill for a Lucozade or Starbucks, but my mother insists on fennel tea. Help!

I’m going to her house tomorrow to bring her Lucozade (and Minstrels).

I’m also bringing her Starbucks.

Not because I fancy her (I’m 100 percent committed to sticking to my list), but because she reached out to me as a friend.

Wednesday, May 30 #MrsEmma

Emma’s mother is unfriendly AF.

That was unexpected.

I went over to their house around eleven and rang the doorbell.

I thought it would be just Emma, because it’s the middle of the week and everyone’s at work, but Emma’s mum opened the door and looked at me all like: What do you want?

Me: Hello. I’m here to visit Emma.

Her: And you are?

Me: Phoebe.

Her:…

Me: A friend. Obviously.

Her:…

Me: From the thrift shop.

Her: I’m afraid Emma isn’t well enough to have visitors at the moment.

Me: She said she’s not really ill.

Her: I think I’ll be the judge of that, Phoebe. If you don’t mind.

Me (thinking: Aggressive much?):…

Her: I’m sure Emma will be back at the thrift shop next week.

And at that point, I saw movement just at the top of the stairs, and so I moved to the side a bit to see.

It was Emma, and she was waving at me and mouthing: “I’m sorry” and pointing at her mother.

Me (a bit louder, so she could hear me, too): I got Emma Starbucks, and Lucozade, and Minstrels.

Her: That’s very thoughtful of you, but not very good for Emma.

Emma (on top of the stairs, mouthing): Nooooooooooooo!!!!

Me (trying to look at Mrs. Emma with an equal amount of understanding and hatred): Fine. I’ll give it to her next time I see her.

Her: I think that would be best.

Me: Bye.

Her (suddenly all nice and chatty because I’m leaving): Goodbye, Phoebe, nice to meet you.

I hate people who are so obviously two-faced.

Fuck off.

I walked back to the thrift shop, and when I saw Kate, I was just like: “That could have gone a lot better. Emma’s mum’s a proper cow.”

Kate: I think the word you’re looking for is overprotective.

Me: Have you met her?

Kate: Only once. But I’m aware that she worries about Emma a lot.

Me: Well, I wasn’t trying to poison her child. I was trying to make her happy.

So then I sat by the steamer for, like, half an hour and drank two gone-cold soy chai lattes, and I couldn’t even be bothered to decide on the donation of the week. All I could think about was Emma, and whether she would taste of soy chai latte. All sweet and cinnamony and creamylicious.

I’m really worried that I can’t stop fancying her.

I know I’ve only been trying for a couple of days, but I need to try harder.

I wonder if you can fancy someone without wanting them.

Fancy someone … What does that even mean?

PS:

to fancy someone: In British English, the verb to fancy is a transitive verb whose primary meaning is like, love, feel attracted, have a taste for, etc.

So it’s basically the same as saying “I fancy cake.” I like cake, I love cake, I feel attracted to cake, I have a taste for cake.

BUT, that doesn’t mean I have to have the cake.

Fine. I can work with that.

Or maybe I can simply treat my feelings (blech!!!!!) like a chronic illness or like diabetes: accept they exist, appreciate they are annoying, understand them, and manage them.

Thursday, May 31 #StillNotInLoveWithEmma

Emma sent me a text in the middle of the night:

I wanted to say sorry my mum didn’t let you in. She overreacts. One sniffle, and the house is on lockdown for a week. Hopefully see you Saturday?

Me: Don’t even worry about it. All parents are strange. Anyway, it’s better than having a mum who forgets you exist.

Emma: I’m sure that’s not true.

Me: It actually is.

Emma: My mum doesn’t even trust me to have a sleepover anywhere anymore.

Me: Why?

Emma: She’s always stressing that something could happen to me.

Me: Why?

Emma: In case I die, too.

Me: Sorry.

Emma: It’s fine.

Me: We should run away together.

Emma: I’m packing my bag.

Me: My grandparents live in Hong Kong. They’re a bit odd, but we can stay for free.

Emma: I’m climbing out of the window.

Me: I’ll have the flights booked by the time you pick me up.

Emma: OMG, I so wish.

Me: Me too.

Emma: Sleep well.

Me: You too. And make sure I see you Saturday.

Emma: Can’t wait.

Me: Me neither.

Emma: x

Me:…

Of course I was wide awake for hours after, and this morning, instead of studying, I looked out of the window at nothing, and this afternoon at the thrift shop, I dropped everything, because apparently having realized you fancy someone messes with your basic motor neuron functions.

I smashed a shitty crystal jar of potpourri, and the whole shop stank of chemically manufactured lavender, and Pat was like: “Oh, Kate, I’m getting quite a migraine, I don’t think I’ll be able to be on the shop floor today.” (Like she ever is. OMG, could I hate her any more?)

I rolled my eyes, and Kate was like: “What’s the matter with you today?” and I was like: “Why? Have you never dropped anything?”

Alex was behind the till, and he just laughed.

Kate was like: “All right, Snappy, why don’t you and Alex take lunch together?”

So Alex and I sat in the sunshine by the back door, eating our sandwiches, and then we wandered up to Sprinkles to get some ice cream to go. I got mango, strawberry, and peach, and Alex got three scoops of chocolate, and halfway down the street, I looked at Alex, and he had chocolate ice cream all over his face, and I was just like: “I should have gotten chocolate.” And Alex was like: “You should always know what you want. So you don’t have regrets.”

What do I want?

PS: Sticking to my list is