Wednesday, November 4th -7:12pm

Uber-Pool arriving in 3 minutes. Please meet your driver Petra at the pre-set pick up location. You will arrive at your destination at 7:26pm.

James was already twelve minutes late to meet his mother for dinner and every passing minute that he was not actively sitting across from her was another minute she would be planning creative ways to separate his head from the rest of his body.

Hands shoved deep into his pockets and rocking back and forth from his heels to tiptoes, he started wondering if he had time to grab flowers as an excuse before Petra the driver arrived.

That idea was quickly rejected as the toyota he saw on the app pulled up alongside the curb.

"James?"

"Yes, thank you, thank you!" He shouted as he dove to grab the backdoor and slid in to find another passenger already seated. Of course he had to cheap out and get a pool. Maybe if he slipped Petra a 20 she'd drop him off first. The other passenger might even understand, she looked far too relaxed in her seat to be running late, she'd be fine with it if he asked nicely, maybe.

"Hello!" she chirped, eyes flitting up to look at him for half a second before returning back to her phone. Oh god. How could he have not immediately recognized that hair. It was Sunday morning girl, kind of. It was the Sunday morning Goddess but with six less pounds of day old eye makeup and falling off lashes. Immediately, he felt that Petra could take the long way, like backroads filled with traffic and delays, and he wouldn't care at all.

He had been right, she was somehow even more gorgeous with her hair in curls around her face and heels on her feet instead of in her hands.

He leaned over, slightly encroaching onto the neutral middle seat territory and lowering his voice so as to not be overheard by Petra. "What, no energy drink today?"

"I'm sorry?" her eyebrows shoot up and eyes widen in confusion for two and a half seconds (James held his breath and counted), before narrowing in recognition.

"Wow, I barely recognized you without the sunglasses and sweatshirt and overall air of 'so hungover I might just keel over and die'." Her phone dropped out of her hands and into her lap as she turned to face him, seatbelt straining.

"Could say the same to you," eyeing the yellow floral sundress that made her look like walking sunshine, and was so different, but equally as dangerous, from the skin tight black skirt he had last seen her in that made her look much more like walking sex.

"Ah yes, clean hair and brushed teeth. Does wonders for the complexion."

"I bet. Coffee and a shower really did it for me. Really elevated the whole will to live."

"Of course, of course. Nothing like a good shower and greasy breakfast to kickstart that feeling."

"Essential, really, but of course not at the same time."

"What do you mean? You only believe in one cure not two?"

"No, I mean that eating greasy breakfast in the shower usually makes it more soggy than greasy. Not the best combination."

That got her to snort with laughter and roll her eyes. The sound of her laughter, at his joke no less, made his entire being light up with joy and his fingers begin to tingle. She leaned in a little bit closer.

"And you know this from experience, I presume?"

"Unfortunately yes," his voice became a mock whisper, "a particularly dark Tequila Tuesday leading to a late for work Wednesday leading to a rushed McDonald's pancake breakfast in the shower. Soap got in the syrup, shampoo in the butter, tried to shave my face with my fork instead of my razor. It was a nightmare," he drawled out dramatically, eliciting a real, full laugh from her this time.

"Very good to know. Although truth be told, I feel like that was more on you. Pancake breakfast really isn't a shower food. French toast sticks. Cereal. Oatmeal. Now those are shower food."

"See I see why you'd say that but let's back up here for a second. French toast sticks, while delicious, are exponentially less good without proper syrup dipping. Now, as previously mentioned, I can guarantee that syrup and soap do not mix."

"You don't need syrup for French toast sticks! They're fabulous on their own! No condiments required."

"Wrong, absolutely wrong. Disgusting eating habits you have."

"Me? I'm certainly not the one shaving and eating with the same fork. Clearly you need to sort your priorities out."

"Yes, well let's not forget that the last time we met, you were combining a five hour energy with a premade bottled coffee. Of all the food related atrocities I have committed, never, in my life, would I even think-"

"James," Petrua interrupted, "we're here."

James snapped back to his seat realizing he was far more in the middle than most people would deem acceptable Uber etiquette, but giddily he realized that Lily was disobeying that etiquette just as much.

"Of course. Um, thanks so much," he looked down at his phone to see it was now 7:20 and he had six voice messages from his mother. "Shit, shit shit, I am late. Okay," he jumped out of the car, nearly knocking a passing pedestrian down with the door.

"Shit, fuck, shit, ma'am are you alright? Fuck," one hand reached down to help up the lady while the other rooted firmly in his hair. As he sent the lady on her, thankfully injury free, way he could practically feel his mother's glare cutting through the restaurant and finding him.

"Thank you so much Petra. And you," he looked desperately towards Lily, praying to find some words to ask to see again but failing miserably.

She smiled slightly at him, leaning backwards in her seat, picking her phone up from where it laid forgotten on her lap. "I'll see you around, James."

"Right, ah yes. Right, of course. Bye then." With a tight smile and nod, he closed the door, spun on his heel and prepared to get verbally berated.