32
Lola
Mellie stumbles into the apartment with the key that I gave her, kicking the door shut before unloading two armfuls of groceries on the kitchen counter. “What’s up, buttercup?”
She’s out of breath and exhausted, but still thinking of me. I walk to the fridge and grab her a bottle of water, forking it over with a smile. “Have I ever told you how awesome you are?”
She chugs half the bottle. “You’ve told me a time or two.”
“I mean it, though.” Emotion chokes my voice. “I just want you to know that. It’s important to me.”
She furrows her brows and twists the cap back on the water. “Everything okay?”
I sit down beside her at the bar and tear into a packet of gummy worms from one of the bags she brought. “It’s fine. I just remember that when Ryan died, I told myself that I was never going to take anything for granted again. And sometimes, I forget that.”
“I get that,” she says. “Life can change in the blink of a moment.”
I offer her a gummy worm, and she exchanges it for a different color from the bag. We chat while she catches her breath and I scroll through my VUDU wish list.
“I’ve got some movies picked out.” I wiggle the phone at her. “Your turn to pick.”
Mellie browses through the selection and settles on Bridesmaids. Thirty minutes later, we’re on the sofa laughing our asses off and sick from too much food. Tears leak out of my eyes when I watch the plane scene for the hundredth time. “This is what I needed.”
“Me too,” Mellie sighs. “Work has been absolutely nuts.”
I nod and pop a couple milk duds into my mouth, trying to chew around them while she fills me in on her crazy colleagues.
“How’s project Lola coming along?” she asks. “Still doing well?”
“Really well.” It feels like a lie, but I don’t know why. Things are going good. And if I can just keep myself from thinking about Daire, then I’ll be doing just fine.
“Any more news from he who I should probably not mention?”
I stare at the TV. The last thing I want to talk about is Daire, but maybe if I purge the words from my body, I can purge him from my mind too. “He came to the shop.”
Mellie wrinkles her nose when she watches me dunk a salt and vinegar chip into some vanilla ice cream.
“I don’t know how you aren’t sick right now.”
“It’s a gift.” I shrug. “I have maximum junk food processing efficiency.”
“What did Daire say?”
I pretend to be absorbed by the scene on television, so I don’t have to make eye contact when I speak. “He said he loves me. He said he hasn’t had a drink in a year, and he wishes he’d never fucked up. He wants to be with me. Yada, yadda, yadda.”
She doesn’t answer right away, and I can’t handle it. I turn to Mellie. She’s studying me too carefully for my liking, and I know my emotions are probably written all over my face.
“Do you believe him?”
“How can I? All he’s ever done is play games.”
She nods in agreement. “True. But he hasn’t ever really lied about drinking. That’s a first.”
I bite my lip to keep any confessions from spilling out. My armor is at its weakest right now, and I’m already on the verge of admitting that I do believe him. Not because of his words, but his actions. He hasn’t been shaking. He hasn’t been calling me at all hours of the night. It’s the easiest and simplest explanation, but that isn’t the way my mind works. I want to overcomplicate the situation. I want to protect myself from Daire in any way that I can.
My phone chimes and I pick it up, grateful for the interruption.
ThatGuy:
So a guy walks into a bar…
LolaB:
I feel a cheesy joke coming on.
ThatGuy:
You’d be right.
LolaB:
What’s the punchline?
ThatGuy:
Damn. I always screw these up. What I meant to say was a guy (Tom Hanks, specifically) walks into a coffee shop.
LolaB:
Ahhh, I see where you’re going with this now.
ThatGuy:
Now that’s where you’re wrong, Lola.
LolaB:
Hmm. Okay, then enlighten me.
ThatGuy:
Sorry, no can do. If you want to find out what happens next, there is some participation required on your part.
I smile stupidly at the screen and Mellie clears her throat beside me. “Sorry, just one second,” I tell her.
“Who is that?”
“It’s that guy I was telling you about. The one on Tap Left.”
The irony of me calling him that guy doesn’t escape me and Mellie gives me a funny look when I snort. “That’s his handle. ThatGuy.”
She smiles and leans over my shoulder to spy while I type.
LolaB:
What level of participation are we talking about here?
ThatGuy:
It would require you to get in your car, a cab, a boat, a helicopter. Whatever you have to do to get to point B.
LolaB: And point B is?
ThatGuy:
Capparellis. Tonight. At 9PM.
I pause to stare at Mellie, who looks worried. “He wants to meet you at night?”
“In public,” I defend. “We’ve been talking for like a month anyway.”
“So you actually want to meet this guy?”
I bite my lip and think about Daire. I don’t know why. Why is it always him? Why can’t I get him out of my head?
“I think I do.”
She leans back on the sofa. “I think you’re not sure. But maybe meeting him will give you some clarity.”
Another message comes through.
ThatGuy:
…
ThatGuy:
Scare you off?
I lean back and blow the errant strands of hair out of my face. Mellie is right. There is only one way to know for sure.
LolaB:
Okay.
ThatGuy:
Okay?
LolaB:
Yep. Okay.
ThatGuy:
I didn’t think you’d say yes.
LolaB:
I can change my mind if you’d like.
ThatGuy:
Not a chance. You’ve already agreed. That’s a binding verbal contract.
LolaB:
Then I guess I’d better start getting ready.
ThatGuy:
Don’t forget the book.
LolaB:
What book?
ThatGuy:
Pride and Prejudice. I’ll bring the rose.
I look up at Mellie. “Just like Joe Fox and Kathleen Kelly.”