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***
“I’ll have the grilled salmon, baked potatoes with ranch dressing, and a salad on the side. You know what, throw in some nachos while you’re at it.”
I stare at my friend, amused. “Throw in some nachos while you’re at it? Please don’t tell me you’re pregnant, Vicky . . .”
She rolls her eyes at me while shoving a breadstick into her mouth. “No. You’d be proud of me. I haven’t touched Patrick whatsoever.”
“Wow. I am proud of you.”
“I’m happy to accept his lavish gifts while he pines so desperately for my kitty.”
“New wallet?”
“Yep.” Her mouth widens into a smile. “Chanel. Isn’t it a beauty?”
“Yes. But you realize he wants sex and you need sex?”
“Don’t worry about me. I bought this super-duper vibrator with all the bells and whistles. I’ve gone through a whole pack of batteries in a week!”
Vicky spends the next ten minutes reciting the stats of the vibrator. She wasn’t kidding when she said it had all the bells and whistles. It has five-star reviews, and we have a good laugh reading what other women had to say about it.
“At the rate I’m going . . . I may need to buy one, too.”
I take a sip of water as the waiter places the nachos in front of us. My weakness, and today, I ignore my attempt to get back in shape; I eat like it’s my last meal on Earth. The gym can wait . . . again.
“I saw the Jerk yesterday. He came into the office in the morning to grab his laptop.”
“That’s nice,” I say without any emotion.
“Well, what I saw wasn’t nice. He looked like a wreck, Pres. I mean, a scruffy-looking hairy man who probably hasn’t seen a mirror or a razor in a while. He rivaled Bigfoot.”
“Maybe that’s the look he wants at his wedding.”
She sighs. “You’re not helping me here.”
“Helping you do what?”
“He looks like shit because he misses you, Presley. And he knows he is a jerk and said jerk-like things to you. I don’t know why he is marrying her if he loves you. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“He doesn’t love me. End of story. Now can we please talk about something else?”
I bite down on a corn chip, avoiding Vicky’s penetrating gaze. She knows me well enough to know this is a sore subject. She can tell, not only because I’m avoiding making eye contact, but also cause I do that nervous twirl of my hair around my finger thing and constantly tap my foot against the floor.
I swiftly change subjects. “So I’ve lined up a part-time job at the Lantern House in L.A. I’ll be working four days a week. Three days in the office and one day from home. Luckily Gemma works from home as a graphic designer, so she jumped at the chance to take care of Masen till he’s old enough to go to daycare.”
“Sounds like you have it all planned out. Just like the old Presley,” Vicky says with her eyebrows raised.
Taken aback by her tone and comment, I place my fork down and wipe my mouth. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that nothing’s changed. Yes, you’ve had a baby, but you’ve turned back into Miss Plan-My-Whole-Life-Out Presley. It was fun being around you when you stopped giving a shit and just lived for the moment. The Jerk changed you in ways you haven’t bothered to notice.”
“Well, not giving a shit and living for the moment ends up with a broken heart. I’m sick of this. I just want to go live my life without all the drama.”
“What about me?” she pouts jokingly.
“What about you?”
“Will you miss my drama?”
