Page 29 of My Fake Dating with the Grumpiest Highlander
Droplets hang from the ceiling like stalactites. The plaster is already soaked through, forming a dark stain that keeps spreading inexorably.
A stain shaped like the map of some imaginary country.
The Republic of My Problems.
“No. No. NO!”
I rush forward, moving books, papers, anything that can still be saved.
My hands are shaking.
My wet feet leave prints across the hardwood floor.
I place a bucket beneath the main leak.
Then another.
Then a saucepan.
Then a mixing bowl.
My living room now looks like an incredibly depressing contemporary art installation.
I run to grab every towel left in the house—there aren’t many dry ones after the Great Bathroom Drying Operation—and begin the mopping session of the century.
Twenty minutes later, wringing out a towel for the tenth time, I realize I need help.
I grab my phone.
“Hello?”
The plumber’s voice is gruff. I’m clearly bothering him.
“Mr. McKay? This is Mary McGregor. I have an emergency. My bathtub overflowed, the water came through the ceiling, everything’s flooded. And I think there’s another leak because it’s still dripping.”
A long sigh answers me.
“Did you shut off the faucet?”
“Obviously!”
“Did you turn off the water supply?”
I bite my lip and hurry to do it.
“All right. Can’t come before tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock at the earliest.”
“But—”
“In the meantime, towels and buckets. No other solution, miss.”
“You really can’t come tonight? It’s an emergency!”
“I’ve got three other emergencies ahead of you. Frozen pipes at the MacDonalds’, a leak at the Campbells’, and a water heater exploded at Angus’s place. You’re number four. Sorry.”
“But—”
Click.
