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“Yep.” I nod. “Oh, don’t forget about Andrew,” I add, rolling my eyes. “Grammy can’t go anywhere without him.”
“Who’s Andrew?” Annie asks.
“Her cat,” Laura replies for me.
“Well, this doesn’t spell disaster at all.” Annie chuckles.
How did I get myself into this mess? Oh. Right. I drank too much and then made a complete fool of myself by inviting my professor to a private family function. Drunk or sober, it doesn’t matter. I still managed to completely fuck myself over.
Laura loses it again, only this time she stretches herself out on the couch to increase her ability to laugh. I shake my head, annoyed that the two of them are carrying on like a couple of teenagers, instead of the twenty- and thirty-something mother’s they really are. Annie I can understand, but Laura I expected more from. I should’ve known better than to tell her about this. I’m never going to hear the end of it, which is totally unfair, given that if she were the one in the shit, I’d be a supportive and helpful friend—
Oh, who am I kidding? I’d be even worse than she’s is. Hell, I’m still teasing her about her shit that happened years ago. Like the time she lodged a vibrator inside her vagina and made me try to get it out. There’s an experience I never want to repeat.
I glare at Laura as she struggles to sit back up. She takes my hand, and for a moment I think she’s going to apologize for being such a twat.
“Oh my God, Becs,” she gasps. “Can I please come too?”
“No,” I snap, glaring at her, yanking my hand away. “This isn’t a soap opera, Laura. This is real life.”
“Are you sure about that?” Annie pipes up. She grins wickedly at me. “Because I watched an Estonian porno film last week with pretty much this exact same storyline.” She pauses and eyes me thoughtfully. “In an unrelated matter, are there dwarfs in your family?”
I ignore Laura’s loud snort and glare at Annie.
“Not helpful and very fucking offensive,” I growl.
“When am I ever helpful?” she reasons, with a shrug. “And I’m British. Offensive is what we do.” She takes a sip of her drink and makes a face. “And if you want offensive, try the coffee.”
“Hey, this coffee rocks,” I say defensively.
“It does,” Laura agrees. “Sorry,” she adds with a shrug when Annie glowers at her.
It’s Monday afternoon and Laura, Annie and I are catching up for coffee at La Rez, a trendy little café in downtown LA. I take a sip of my coffee and nod, appreciating the full flavor of the hot liquid as it slides down my throat. I’d become somewhat of a coffee connoisseur over the last few weeks.
A month ago, following a very heated argument over where to get the best coffee in LA, the three of us had entered a bet—or as I liked to call it, war. Every week, one of us chooses a place to meet for coffee. If the majority agrees the coffee is above average, then the chooser gets a point. The person with the least amount of points once we’ve each chosen ten places must pay for coffee for the next six months.
“I still have no idea how the fuck I’m on one point,” Annie mutters.
“I agree. I was sure you’d stay on zero,” I tease. She makes a face at me. “Maybe you just have really shitty taste?” I suggest with a laugh.
“That would explain why I let you hang around,” she retorts.
“Can we get back on topic?” Laura cuts in. She flashes me a wide grin. “How can we be sure you’re going to be able to control yourself on this road trip?” she teases.
“With Grammy in the back? Yeah, I’m sure that we’ll be getting up to all sorts of nonsense,” I retort. “Never mind the fact that I know he’s only doing this to mess with me.”
“Or maybe he’s into you, and wants to get you alone?” Laura suggests.
“Yeah, because it will be so romantic, just the three of us.” I shake my head. “She sounds like she’s going to be a handful. I’m pretty sure his claim that he needs help is legitimate.”
“So, explain to me again why Grammy won’t fly over here?” she adds, frowning.
“Because she hasn’t flown in fifty years,” I say. “I can sort of understand it, considering her husband died in a plane.”
“Crash?” Laura guesses with a wince.
“Not quite,” I admit. My lips twitch. “He had a heart attack while his wife was sucking him off halfway between Berlin and LA.” I grin at her. “But at least he died happy.”
“Are you kidding me?” Laura giggles. “Fuck. How old is she and how long ago are we talking? No wonder the poor woman is mortified of flying.”
“Ninety-six and she was in her forties when it happened, I think,” I explain with a sigh. I feel bad about laughing. And here I am thinking my problems are bad. How do you explain something like that to people? “So, she can’t fly and Jake is freaking out because his Grammy isn’t going to be at his wedding. What kind of friend would I be if I don’t help Jake out?”
