“Do you think Waffle House would be appropriate? Hear me out…”

It was a Friday afternoon, and I was spending my lunch break catching up with a long-time friend. We’d been playing phone tag for months now, but this afternoon, our free calendar blocks finally aligned. Halfway through the chorus of Charli XCX’s Genius, just as Billie Eilish was getting ready to describe Charli’s underwear (”Already know what you’ve got going on down there”) —

“Incoming call,” Siri interjected. “From Shirley. Answer it?”

Swiping away Charli and Billie’s love ballad, I tapped to accept. Thirty minutes later, we’d moved past all the usual updates and had turned to our Valentine’s Day plans.

…Or lack thereof.

“You know we can’t get reservations anywhere good at this point,” she lamented.

I knew her struggle all too well — Valentine’s Day reservations in Raleigh were basically Eras Tour tickets.

“But,” she continued, “I saw that Waffle House is doing this reservations-only, candle-lit meal thing with a special menu. That could be fun.”

From the way she said it, I could fully envision her noncommittal shrug on the other end of the line. “What do you think?”

“Most definitely,” I agreed — though I’d never actually been to a Waffle House sober enough to form an informed opinion. But inebriated or not, who doesn’t love a good Waffle House waffle?

“Anyway,” said Shirley, tabling the Waffle House conversation for now, “this has been fun — I miss you! When’s the last time we actually talked on the phone?”

“I miss you, too,” I said, “and that… is a great question.”

Even though we texted and exchanged gifs daily, I couldn’t recall the last time we actually picked up the phone and spoke.

“Do you still have time,” she asked, “or do you need to go? I know you mentioned having a call.”

I tapped my darkened phone screen to check the time.

“Nah,” I said. “I’m good. I’ve got plenty of time.”

Which was only a half-truth. Sure, I still had about 20 minutes until my next meeting – but I had prepped absolutely nada. Later Me’s problem.

“Perfect,” said Shirley, dropping her voice in that wonderful pre-gossip kind of way, “because listen to this shit…”

And with that, we moved into the “airing grievances” segment of our lunch date. So for the next twenty minutes, we took turns whispering about the things that had recently pissed us off — despite both working from home and being in absolutely zero danger of being overheard. I had just finished filling her in on the $8 pack of chicken I bought the day before when Zoom chimed in.

“Ugh,” I groaned. “My 2:00 is calling in, so I’ve got to go —”

“I’ve got to go, too, or I’ll be working all night —”

“I’ll talk to ya later, Shirley.”

“Sounds good! See ya, Jo—“

Click.

We’re both busy as hell (and separated by four hundred miles of highway), so I’ll take what I can get. If that means an impromptu lunch date between Zoom calls, I’ll see you again in four to six months.