Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85484 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“One of us is going to enjoy this Friday night, and that someone is me.”
Kerissa rubs her forehead as if she’s the one who’s going to wake up sick tomorrow. At least if I’m throwing up, I won’t be thinking about my plethora of external problems. It’s the cheap way out, and I know it. But a girl can only take so much shit in one day.
“I’ll be back,” Jenny says before scooting off through the tables.
The breeze is hot despite the fans in each corner of the patio. The tarp covering the ceiling rattles in the wind, creating an interesting backdrop to the mariachi music playing overhead.
Kerissa takes out her phone and starts swiping around the screen. I side-eye my device sitting on the table, but the idea of picking it up and opening apps requires more energy than I currently have to give it. Instead, I breathe in the wonderful aroma of spices from the kitchen below us and watch a family across the patio celebrate a little girl’s birthday.
I smile as I watch them, enjoying the glee on their faces despite my mood.
Kerissa watches me with a puzzled expression.
“What?” I ask.
“I’m not sure …” She narrows her eyes. “You asked me to meet you here in a very shouty, aggressive-ish text, so I assumed you had news about work. But then you order a margarita with an extra shot of tequila and are talking about country songs.”
“So?”
“So that sets off my best friend spidey-senses. That combo usually means you’re trying to forget whatever happened in the twelve hours prior.”
I point at her. “You would be correct. Damn, you’re good.”
She sighs. “I should’ve ordered that margarita.”
“Well, I tried to insert my best friend logic into this situation, but you overrode me. Now you’re going to have to endure the pain of dealing with my drama without the buffer of an adult beverage. It’s your own fault.”
“Sometimes I wonder how we function together.”
“Easy,” I say. “Only one of us can be dramatic at a time. Right now, I call dibs.”
“And what if I have a little drama to share?”
I make a face. “Excuse me? You have drama and didn’t start this conversation with that? Do tell.”
“I thought you called dibs.”
My hand flicks through the air. “I did. But my drama is painful drama. Yours is usually hot, sometimes kinky drama, and I wholeheartedly live vicariously through you and your sordid life. You get whiskey frisky, and I get … rum … numb.”
Kerissa furrows her brows, chuckling. “What does that even mean? You don’t drink rum.”
“Nothing rhymes with tequila. You get whiskey frisky, and I get, what—tequila Argentina?”
“You know what? This is a perfect example of how you misalign your manifestations. You give me whiskey frisky. Frisky is a playful, sexy kind of word.” She cocks her head to the side. “You gave yourself numb.”
“What was I supposed to say? Rum bum?”
“Would’ve been better than numb. Or rum cum.”
I make a face. “Ew. No. That just …” I shiver. “No.”
“Just something to consider.”
“Or not.” I pull a napkin out of the dispenser in anticipation of my drink arriving. “I don’t know whether to laugh, dance, or cry about my day, so let’s start with yours.”
“Fine. But can I have a quick rundown so I can prepare for the conversation in advance? The way tonight is already going, I’ll need a minute to get myself ready.”
I lean my head back and sigh.
My body aches. The toll from the day—the roller coaster of emotions leading up to it and following Bridgit’s decision—settles in my bones. I considered tucking myself into a hot bath with a pint of ice cream, but Kerissa has a way of taking my mind off things while also solving them—or at least making them seem less overwhelming. And I could use a little of that tonight.
I level my chin. “Okay. Quick rundown goes like this—we had a meeting. Chuck made an impromptu last-minute filibuster of sorts, so I got put on the spot to say my state of the union or whatever.”
“What’s with all the political shit?”
I lean forward. “Because that’s what it felt like, okay? Like I was running for some sort of office and my opponent is smiling for the cameras and lying through his teeth.” I pause as reality hits me over the head. “In a huge bout of irony, I was the one smiling and lying. But let’s not focus on that.”
Kerissa struggles not to laugh.
“Anyway,” I say. “Bridgit picked me.”
“Yay!”
“And Chuck semi-lost his cool.”
“Also, yay!”
“And then …” I tap my hands against the table in a pathetic attempt at a drumroll. “I got finagled—how? I’m still not sure—into taking the trip that I used in my proposal with my nonexistent ex-husband.”
The smile melts from Kerissa’s face.
“Yeah. That part,” I say, taking my drink from Jenny. “Thank you.”