I looked at it.
The screen displayed what could generously be described as a calendar. More accurately, it resembled the final thoughts of a dying AI that had been fed nothing but energy drinks and motivational posters. Appointments overlapped. Colors clashed. Some entries were just emoji. One block simply read "that thing with the bows!!!" with no date, time, or additional context.
"That's..." I searched for the diplomatic word.
"A disaster?"
"Creative."
Harlow beamed. "See? You get me!"
She leaned closer to scroll down, and her chest pressed against my bicep.
I kept my eyes on the phone screen.
"This entry here," I said, pointing at a purple block. "What does 'remember the thing' mean?"
"Oh! That's the charity dinner! I think! Or maybe it's the photoshoot? One of those!"
"When is it?"
"Thursday? Or Friday? The one with the day in it!"
"All days have days in them. That's what makes them days."
