Page 225 of What We Burn

“I mean the whole story.” She won’t look at me, like the consequences of asking are heavier than the fun we were supposed to be having. “You haven’t talked about it in months. Your guys don’t talk about it, either. Jamie says you never mention how you’re coping. And I just—” She shrugs again, smaller this time. “I don’t know, Sage. I guess I want to know you’re okay. Not just, like, baseline okay, but actually okay. Because I think you deserve an incredible life.”

My mouth tastes like old metal. The words get stuck sliding past each other in my head. I stare at the snacks, at the ridiculously long eyelash extensions, and then back at Amy’s careful face. “I’m good. Great, actually. Promise.”

She looks at me for a long moment, like she’s searching for the lie. But when she doesn’t see it, she blinks away the moment. “Okay. Enough about the bad shit.” She picks up the eyelashes. “We’re going full glam, Sage.”

I laugh. “You know I can’t apply individual lashes. I can barely apply mascara without poking myself in the eye.”

“That’s why we have wine and each other. Also, YouTube tutorials, which I’ve bookmarked seven of.” She moves the lash kits beside the face masks and stands back to admire the spread. “Oh! Wait. Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“Because I have a surprise and I need you to not see it until the full effect hits.”

I close my eyes. I hear her drag something out of her bedroom, followed by a whoosh and several bursts of swearing.

“Okay,” she says. “Open.”

I open my eyes. Amy is standing beside a portable spray tan booth. It’s essentially a pop-up tent made of shiny silver material with a little platform inside and a hose attachment that connects to a compressor the size of a shoebox.

“You bought a spray tan booth.”

“I rented a spray tan booth. From a woman named Darlene on Facebook Marketplace. She also offered to do our nails, but her page had some questionable reviews, so I drew the line at the tent.”

“Where is the overspray going to go?”

“I brought plastic sheeting. And towels. There’s a YouTube tutorial for that too.” She pats the compressor lovingly. “We’re going to be bronze goddesses, Sage. Just accept it.”

“We’re going to look like Oompa Loompas.”

“Bronze. Goddesses.” She points at me. “Jamie’s going first, though. It’s his punishment for being late.”

“He’s not even late yet.”

“He will be. He’s always late.”

She picks up her phone and types:

AMY:

ETA? The Dunkaroos are looking tasty and your share is under threat.

JAMIE:

On my way! Traffic is a nightmare. Save me a Swiss Roll or I’m disowning both of you.

AMY:

No promises. Hurry up.

JAMIE:

10 mins. Pour my wine. And DON’T start the face masks without me. I need the full koi fish experience.

“Ten minutes,” Amy announces. “So we’ve got time for nails and lashes before he gets here. Face masks when he arrives.”

“You think we can do lashes and nails in ten minutes?”

“No way!” She laughs. “But Jamie’s ten minutes is everyone else’s forty-five. So we definitely have time for at least one. I vote lashes.”