“Bullshit.” Emily waves another fry at me. “You love puzzles as much as I do, and you're better at them than me. We've been through way too many escape rooms together for me to believe that you somehow—” she sticks the fry in her mouth and raises her hands in air quotes, “—made a mistake on the puzzle and went somewhere across town. Come on, Rachel got there before you. Even Leah got there before you, and Leah can't find her way out of a paper bag. I was afraid she was going to end up in Boston or something.”
We giggle at the thought.
I down a quarter of my Bloody Mary, then stuff another French fry in my mouth, so I don't have to answer yet, buying myself some time. Damn it, I was hoping my best friend was drunkenough that she wouldn't remember all the details, would accept my excuse without thinking anything further about it.
“So, who did you fuck?” Emily asks nonchalantly.
“Shhh! Jesus, you don’t have to tell the entire world,” I grumble, my cheeks heating as I try to avoid the attention turned our way. We're in a hipster brunch spot in Manhattan, and most people here probably did that, and worse last night. But it doesn't mean they're not interested in some gossip. I’m sure I'm going to show up on a few of those “Overheard in New York” social media posts.
“Then tell me who it was. By the time you showed up, Aragorn didn't have any pants on, but he was still pretty damn amazing. You know, I picked him out just for you. I was seriously impressed by the costume work. He says he makes everything himself and even sells cosplay on Etsy. I might have to check him out.”
“I thought he was there for me to check out?” I give her a wink.
I dunk my chicken tender into the homemade ranch dressing. Between the greasy food and the Bloody Mary with the accompanying olives, strips of bacon, and celery, my hangover is beginning to fade.
It also helps that there's a nice breeze blowing through the vine-covered patio, which makes the sun almost bearable with my dark sunglasses on.
“He was,” Emily insists. “But you needed to get out there and have some fun.”
“I was having fun. It wasyourbachelorette party, though.”
“So? It doesn’t mean you couldn’t have, at least, given him a shot. He didn't have any freaking underwear on, for fuck’s sake. You could have at least danced up against him or something. Don't think I didn't see you dancing on the outside of the circle, as far away from him as you could get. He was your type, Clara.”
“Yeah, back in high school.”
“Oh, that's right.” Emily rolls her eyes. “Now, your type is a controlling, raging asshole, who makes you feel bad about yourself.”
The words sting, and I drop the french fry that was in my hand, unable to cover the sudden wash of hurt.
Emily cringes. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.” She wipes her hands quickly on her napkin and reaches across the table to hold mine. Her green eyes are intently focused on me. “Look, I'm sorry. I'm just so angry at he-who-shall-not-be-named. He treated you so badly, and you deserve so much better. You deserve someone who will treat you well, who will worship you for the goddess you are: a kickass lawyer, who can hold her own against seasoned partners in the firm and prosecutors alike.”
“I know.” I squeeze her hands before letting go and take another sip of my Bloody Mary. “And I am taking steps that way. I'm fielding several corporate offers from headhunters who have contacted me so I can leave the firm. Dean's been bothering me too much there. And I'm tired of defending low-life assholes who make bad decisions and expect me to save them.”
A smile curves Emily's mouth. “So by going corporate, instead, you'll be defending rich assholes who make bad decisions and expect you to save them.”
I laugh. “Among other things.”
“Oh yeah,” Emily huffs and rolls her eyes, “because you're not making enough money already.”
“Hey, I tried to get you to come to law school with me. But no, you wanted to go into art restoration, instead.”
She shrugs. “Someone has to do it. You don't want to lose all that art in the museums you love to visit, do you?”
“Take me to the Louvre next time you're working there, and I'll see.”
Emily throws a french fry at me, and we giggle as I throw one back, except it flies past her and narrowly misses the shoulder of the guy sitting behind her, landing on the ground at his feet. He turns around to glare as a sparrow pounces on the now dirt-covered fry.
“Sorry!” I give a little wave before Emily and I both break out in giggles again. It takes another few minutes before we manage to get ourselves under control.
“Seriously, though,” Emily says. “What the hell happened to you for an hour? Actually, it was more like an hour and a half. You just… disappeared.”
“It was Aragorn,” I joke.
“No, it wasn't. How could he have been with you when he was already at the party? Are you going to tell me the truth, or am I going to have to drag it out of you? You know, I know how to get information.” There's a gleam in her eye I recognize and don't like.
“Can we just focus on you right now? Last night was your bachelorette party; it was about you.”
My best friend continues as though she didn't hear me. “Oh, come on. I was drunk, but I wasn't that drunk. This wasn't like the crazy concert night during our sophomore year in college. Firstly, you were flushed, and you had that glow. You seemed like you were in another world all night, dreamy-like. I know the signs. I know you had sex. Don't tell me you randomly hooked up with Dean?”
