My new best friend’s eyes are wide, like she’s trying to silently communicate to me that I’m sitting at the wrong table. If I sit here for much longer without saying a word, she might lose her mind or break out into actual sweats.
“Hi, I’m Victoria.” I stick my hand out, hovering over the pile of books and notes she has littered across the table. “Or Tori. I’ve seen you come in here almost every day I do, and I figure since we’re both here a lot, and we’re both studying alone, we may as well study alone together, right?”
There’s no way she can say no. I’m an absolute fucking delight. I’m a hard worker, I can sit quietly, and even if she thinks she never has to talk to me, I’ll win her over one day at a time. The tension holding my neck muscles hostage dissipates as her face relaxes.
But she doesn’t speak or move. Not dropping my smile, or my hand, I tilt my head just a smidge. “If you’d rather I take myself back to a table by myself, I can do that too.” Pretty sure no one’s walked to my old table behind me, but I glance back just to be sure.
Still like a deer in headlights, she cautiously accepts my hand and shakes. Her hand is so bony compared to mine, and she’s cold.
“I’m Eloise.”
She speaks! And she has such a pretty name, to match her edgy, striking vibe.
“Let me guess—introvert, right?”
She gives me a slow nod. “How’d you guess?”
I can’t help but laugh at the terror etched across her delicate, doll-like features. “I thought so. Don’t worry, I’m not some weird energy vampire or anything, and I’m not going to talk and talk and talk at you when you’re trying to study—ugh, isn’t that so annoying? But I wanted to say hi and get the ball rolling by telling you I’m your new best friend.”
Not waiting for an invitation, or giving her a chance to change her mind about letting me be in her space, I pick up my backpack and yank out some books. She hasn’t left me much space to work with on the table, but I’ll make do. I mean, of course she hasn't, because she didn't invite me to the table in the first place, but that’s neither here nor there.
Making do has been my MO since two lines popped up on the fourth pregnancy test, cementing the fact that the “pregnant,” the smiley faces, and the extra lines were all accurate, and I was, in fact, pregnant.
Her stare is heavy on me when I jam a pen between my teeth as I flick through my notebook. I want to launch into conversation. Ask her about her hair color, why she chose pink over every other color out there. I want to be incredibly rude and ask about her scar, what degree she’s working on, if she has any secret children lying around that could be besties with my Wyatt. But I chew on the fucking pen so I don’t scare my new best friend away.
It doesn’t last long. A need to break the silence crawls overme. I want to get to know this chick, and to do that, I’ve got to lure her in with the hot chocolate. “You’re empty. You want a drink or something?” I hook my thumb over my shoulder toward Jake the barista.
Yes. I know them all by name. A lot of my time is spent here in Bitches Brew. “I’m going to get something. Full disclosure: possibly more than one something. Spoiler alert:definitelymore than one something. Have you tried their hot chocolate? It’s orgasmic.”
It’s part sarcasm, part hiding the fact I’ve been watching her for days. She’s not going to turn down her favorite drink.
“I love their hot chocolate. I’ve already had one though. I should switch to tea.”
“You only live once. Have the second hot chocolate if you want it.” I pat my tummy. “This chunky girl doesn’t judge.”
After a long pause, like she’s evaluating her decision, she nods. “Okay. I’ll take another.”
“Something you’re going to learn pretty quickly about me, Eloise, is that I’m an enabler.” Dropping my voice to a whisper, I give her an exaggerated wink. “So, if you ever need to be talked into something, I’m your gal.”
When I’m halfway to the counter with my wallet, I stop in my tracks and turn back to her. “No allergies, right? If I get something with nuts in it, I won’t find myself having to dig through your bag for an Epipen or anything?”
“No allergies.”
Allergies are no fucking joke. Wyatt’s daycare has a boy named Arthur who’s allergic to both eggs and nuts. I don’t know how his parents do it. I’d stick him in a plastic bubble and never let him outside the house.
I’m enough of a helicopter with Wyatt as it is without having to read every single food label for the rest of his life. Eating out must be a nightmare too. Those parents are the real heroes.
Just as well Wyatt has no allergies as his favorite foods are dirt, months-old McDonalds fries from the depths of his car seat, and Mom’s cat food.
A couple minutes later, I turn back to the table with overflowing mugs of buttery hot chocolate, and my stomach falls through the floor. My new best friend is making eyes at the hockey god goaltender.
The de la Peñas are famous in our school. The hockey playing twins, the prodigy younger brother goaltender, the boss bitch older sister, rich parents… It’s like something out of a movie. Please don’t let my new bestie be a hockey fan. Please.
I send up a quick prayer. You can never be too cautious when it comes to the influence of the big man upstairs.
I’ve very carefully avoided all things hockey, including players, since my ex. And I’ve very carefully avoided all potential, dateable, real-life-penises since the night I conceived Wyatt. Fine, not all, just most.
I fuck around sometimes. Not often, but every now and then I hook up with someone from a dating app for a quickie. A girl’s got needs. Needs a battery operated boyfriend can’t meet. They just can’t successfully recreate a human tongue in toy form.
