“I don’t know. Burn it.”
“You want me to burn your phone?” Otis tilted his head, open-mouthed.
“You’re right. Let’s burn the entire house. We can run, change my name, and hide in the Mexican desert. Or maybe Iceland. How is Iceland this time of year?”
I waited for the floor to open up and swallow me whole.
Otis stood, brushed down his wrinkly shirt, and chewed on his nails. “Okay, I’ll look.”
“No,” I shouted, charging at him, leaping onto the bed.
He approached my phone like it was a rattlesnake. “You don’t want me to look?”
“No. Yes. I don’t know.” I danced nervously on the bed. “Fine. Do it. Quick.”
Otis tipped the phone over. “I don’t think it’ll make a difference if I do it quick or slow.” He tilted his head, grimacing.
“What?” I asked, peeking behind my fingertips that still smelled like stale cigarettes. My stomach churned. I either needed something heavy and salty soon, or the margaritas would make a comeback.
“He texted.”
Oh no. A pregnant pause.
“What does it say?”
Otis picked up the phone and read.
“I swear, Otis, if you don’t hurry up, I will take you out of my will.” I gritted my teeth.
His head snapped to me. “You’re twenty-four and already have your will written? You’re so weird.”
“OTIS.” I launched myself at him.
“Okay, okay,” he said. I snatched my phone from his hand, reading the green blob of a text message.
It was a link to a hangover recipe.
Chapter Nineteen
The outfit has nothing to do with John. Nothing.
Duct tape makes a great corset.
Elaine’s Army is here.
“How do I look?” I asked Otis for what had to be the tenth time since we arrived in Chicago.
We’d packed the car with overnight bags and snacks, slapped on camera-ready makeup, and sang through theRocky Horrorsoundtrack—twice—on the two-hour drive down I-90. Otis had scored us tickets toEverybody’s Talking About Jamiefrom a theater friend, and we planned to head there right after the conference. I hated leaving Mom alone for a whole weekend, but I was looking forward to doing something thatwasn’tdirectly tied to the fate of the shop.
“You still look hot,” Otis said. “Like the last time you asked me. Not as good as I do, but it’ll do.” He linked his arm with mine and tugged me toward the room where the announcement would be held.
The hall was brightly lit, buzzing with attendees gathered around signing tables or flowing toward one of the many stages set up for panels.
I stalked across the room in platform thigh-highs and a tight black dress, a loose green trench coat thrown over top, readjusting my girls.
Otis slapped my hand away.
“What?” I asked, straightening the name tag that absolutely didnotgo with the vibe.
