Once I hit send, I say, “Okay. Check your text messages.”
“My day was fine,” he responds, and laughter barrels from my belly and straight past my lips.
“Flynn!” I giggle. “You’re supposed to text me your answer back. You know…for evidentiary support.”
“Right. I just have one question.”
“Of course! Go ahead!” I respond, kind of excited to be able to feel useful for once.
“Will Bruiser Woods be partaking in these conversations too, or is Elle the only split personality of yours I need to be on the lookout for?”
“Flynn!” I shriek, both tickled by his highly unexpected knowledge of all things Legally Blonde and slightly embarrassed by his teasing.
“Don’t you think it’s important that we show proof through text messages, too?” I ask him once my laughter subsides. “Phone calls are great—I mean, it will show Immigration that we stay in constant contact, but they won’t be able to see what’s said in our phone conversations. And in order to really sell it, I think they need to see the text conversations. Don’t you?”
“They need to see text conversations or fake text conversations showing we’re in love and shit?”
“Um, the latter.”
“But you want us to be on the phone, too?”
“Yes,” I answer.
But Flynn doesn’t say anything else. Not in text and not on the phone, and the silence makes my heart quicken its speed, uncertainty driving the pace.
God, he must think I’m a total nutjob, and he’s about to lose my number any minute. Or worse, turn me in to Immigration himself.
“Look, I know it’s weird and awkward to text each other while we’re on the phone, but…I need the buffer, you know?” I try to explain my intentions, even though I don’t really understand what I’m trying to achieve here. “This whole thing is making me freak out a bit…” Okay, a lot. “And I just don’t know what to say or do or how to show that we’re in love when we barely even know each other—”
“Check your messages.”
“What?” I ask, but a few moments later, a new text fills our chat.
Flynn: My day was pretty good, babe. How was yours?
“Oh.” Okay, so maybe he doesn’t think I’m a total nutjob. Just, like, a partial nutjob. Not put-her-in-a-padded-room nuts, more like, yes, she’s crazy, but it’s tolerable.
I don’t hesitate to type out a response to his message. Truthfully, I’ve been thinking about it for about seven out of the last twenty-four hours, so it’s pretty curated.
Me: It was good, but I miss you. I hate being this far away from you. I hate waking up and finding out that you’re not there. And going to bed without you beside me? Completely miserable. How many days until I’m in New York with you again? Because from where I stand, it feels like a thousand.
Flynn: I miss you too.
A sigh leaves my lips when I read his latest text. “No offense, Flynn, but you’re going to have to say more than a few words for this to work. I mean, we are supposed to be two people who are crazy about each other and miss each other and all the things, you know? Our text conversations should show love and excitement, but they should also show passion. We’re two people who desperately want to be together but have to be thousands of miles away. It’s going to look weird if I’m penning a novel of adoration and you respond with yeah.”
His hearty chuckles fill my ears, and I furrow my brow.
“Wait…are you laughing at me right now?”
“No offense, but you sound like an acting coach.”
It’s my turn to laugh, but my nerves turn it to hysteria pretty quickly.
I’ve never been one to spend time imagining my future husband, but I do know, if I did, it definitely wouldn’t have been like this, where my husband wasn’t even my husband at all but a man who made a commitment out of pity in order to help keep me from losing my job. It all feels kind of pathetic when I think about it.
“I’m sorry. I know I sound like a rambling psycho and I’m probably making no sense, but the importance of all this, of getting this visa and keeping my job, is making it hard for me to be rational.”
I shut my eyes and run a hand through my hair, but when Flynn says, “Check your messages,” into my ear once more, my focus is back on the screen of my phone.
Flynn: Do me a favor and tell me what you’re wearing right now, babe. In explicit detail, so I can imagine it perfectly.
A breath gets caught in my lungs, and I open and close my mouth several times in an attempt to form words. What the hell? Is he…is he sexting me?
“I can’t be sure…but…are you sexting me?”
“You want it to look real, right?”
Numbly, I nod, the words on the screen still burning into my eyes.
“I’m expecting a response,” he adds.
Okay, Daisy, you said you wanted this. Well, the ball is officially in your court…
I’ve never sexted with anyone in my life. Kind of sad, I’m sure, but true—I am a sexting virgin.
Maybe the only sexting virgin left on the planet at this point in the modern-technology age.
Don’t make a big thing out of it, Daisy. Just…sext him back.
I glance down at my clothes, and when I see that I’m still in the skirt and blouse I put on for work this morning, I decide that this isn’t nearly sexy enough for this conversation. And before I know it, I’m stripping out of my work clothes until I’m left wearing something that feels appropriate for the sexting cause.
An imaginary notification bings dramatically in my head: Libido has entered the chat.
New York
Flynn
Daisy: Your favorite white lace panties and a tank top.
If this conversation weren’t intended for fake purposes, those words would probably make me hard.
Me: Fuck, I want to taste you. I’m about ten seconds away from hopping on a plane to LA…
“Holy moly, that was really good,” Daisy whispers, almost like USCIS has our apartments bugged or some shit, and I have to work not to laugh audibly over the open line. “Like, really good. I don’t even know what to say to that.”
“Simple. Say whatever you think the Daisy who’s in love with her husband would say.”
“Okay…” she whispers, and when it sounds like her fingers are tapping across the screen of her phone, I wait patiently for her response. I’m just about to pull the phone away from my ear to look when she shouts, “Oh no! Oh my God! I didn’t want to send that! Ignore that one! Don’t look at that one!”
It’s too late, though; the text is already on the screen of my phone before she can stop it.
Daisy: I want to see your big penis.
When I read her response, I have to bite my lip over how fucking adorable and awkward it is. Almost as good as telling me I could call her while I’m rocking out with my cock out.
But also, that message, oddly enough, made you hard.
Me: If I were with you right now, where would you want my big cock? Between your pretty lips or inside your wet cunt?
Her breath hitches. But to my pleasant surprise, instead of dissolving into another hysterical spiral, she sends another message through.