Cellular warfare

by Sara

“Hello, Lynette, it’s Bree. It’s Wednesday, about four in the afternoon. I assume you’re somewhere with the kids and out of reach of your phone, but I wanted to see if you were feeling better and up for coffee later this week. Give me a call. Thank you!”

“Hey, Bree, it’s Lynette. Parker, off the couch. I think it’s sevenish on Wednesday, sorry I missed you earlier; my phone was dead and lost in the couch. Feeling better? I’m getting there, and I’d love coffee. Parker – I mean it! I’ll let you know when. Hope things are well.”

“Lynette, you never answer your phone. I am glad to hear that you’re feeling better. It’s Thursday, about ten in the morning, and I’m going to assume that today and tomorrow are a bit out for coffee based on your last message. How does Monday sound?”

“You are not one to talk, Bree Van de Kamp. The purpose of having a cell phone is so that you answer it. Or, one of them, at least. Monday’s great, but how about we make it lunch? It’ll be my first real break in years.”

“Dare I ask what the other purposes are? Besides the obvious, of course. Monday for lunch sounds wonderful, I’ll make something. Just the two of us. See you around noon.”

“I could start leaving dirty messages on your voicemail, but there’s a chance you’d check it when someone else is around and we both know how you blush when I talk dirty. You know I’m up for anything you cook, Madame Van de Kamp, even if it is braised lamb shanks.”

“Lynette! Honestly, I can’t believe you said that. I would like to remind you that, despite that party being an utter disaster, you did enjoy the lamb.”

“Your message tells me to tell you my name, when I called and a brief message plus a phone number, although much more refined than that. Lynette Scavo, some time Saturday evening or early Sunday morning I have no idea, and my brief message is this: I enjoyed sitting next to you. You could have fed me cod liver oil and I would have liked it. You don’t need a phone number; we could Morse code with window shades from across the street.”

“Yours is not much better, Ms Scavo. Didn’t they do that in one of the Anne of Green Gables films? I enjoyed sitting next to you, as well.”

“You expect me to know? I have three boys, and a daughter who can’t even walk yet. Now that we’ve established that we enjoyed sitting next to each other I’m sure we’ve solidified that lunch will go over quite smashingly unless we decide to sit on opposite sides of the table. Although that might still count as sitting next to each other since no one is between us…”

“This is the most absurd game of phone tag I have ever had the privilege of playing.”

“Yet you still call. I’m beginning to not answer my phone when I see it’s you just for kicks. You still have about eighteen hours to let me have a go at the dirty message idea and you can wait to check it until I’m the only one around. I suppose lunch is casual, but not rolled-out-of-bed casual.”

“I am not dignifying that with a response, Lynette. As long as you wear clothing that isn’t obviously picked up off the floor or out of the laundry bin, I have no preference.”

Lynette rang the doorbell, grinning.

Bree opened her door and smiled back at Lynette and invited her in.

“Can I give you the dirty message now?”

Bree gave Lynette a look on the way to the kitchen.

“You ruin all my fun.”

Looking behind her at Lynette, Bree turned to go up the stairs instead.

“Do I?”

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