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She leans in toward me. Sadie gives me a glare before she touches her abdomen and storms off to the restroom.
My heart races as I silence my urge to follow her.
“Is Sadie okay?” Angela asks.
Angela is genuinely concerned, but I can’t act like I’m more concerned than she is.
“Her tummy is upset, and she hasn’t been drinking.” Emily mumbles and shrugs as the brunette friend follows Sadie.
I have a hunch to text Sadie, but instead, I head to the car with Angela. For the remainder of the date, images of Sadie clutter my mind. Every time a boisterous group of women slides by our car, I can’t help but take a quick glance. I’m not sure which of the many cars Sadie is in. Something tells me she’s in someone else’s car than Julia’s.
I grow a bit curious, wondering if Sadie will morph into one of these small-town women who always wanted something bigger but never got it. I really wish more for her, and I know I’m totally capable of offering her so much more. A sadness sweeps over me that makes me more withdrawn than I want to be. Now my feelings are growing heavy, making it nearly impossible to be available to Angela.
This is all a mess, and more than anything, I would rather be back at Dartmouth, alone, if not with Sadie. This all confirms she’s been the height of my joy here in Hillpike. That’s something I cannot deny.
Chapter 15
Sadie
“Butifyoutakea fucking shot, you’ll feel better!” Emily screeches.
We’re at Waffle House the night after I spotted Freddy with Angela. He’s been on my mind like bees on honey. I almost feel like I’m lovesick. My tummy doesn’t want to keep anything down, and I’m so stressed that my period’s been broken up. Whenever I’m stressed, it impacts my menstrual cycle.
Emily and Linda have been celebrating Linda’s birthday all week. Usually, I’m the one with relentless stamina, but as of late, I feel like the grandma of the group.
“I’m not taking a shot,” I say.
I can’t. This is Emily’s fifth time telling me to take a shot, and we haven’t been here for more than an hour. It’s getting pretty old now, and I don’t know why she can’t respect my words. I honestly feel this is common behavior in Hillpike. Actually, I know it is. Everyone is stubborn, and we are wrong if we can’t see it their way. No in-betweens, no understanding, so of course, no respect.
“Well, you’ve been one lousy partygoer all week.” And she continues.
“I need to conserve energy for work. It’s like the only important thing in my life outside of you guys and my family. And I need strength to get through my shift tomorrow.”
“Ever since you’ve been at “Nightingale’s,” it’s like you’re a diva.”
What the hell is Emily’s deal? I don’t think I’m being sensitive if I take what she says as mean, but if I tell her that, she will jump down my throat like a big bully. The irony.
“Me, a diva? You’re Hillpike’s rich girl.” I jab back. After all, her mother is the town’s primary gynecologist, and her dad has coached her as a real estate agent.
“I am not. The Thompson girls are!”
“Oh, wow! Just one possible family. Emily, back off, okay?”
“You really ought to see the doctor. A restaurant job shouldn’t slow a twenty-five-year-old down. I don’t see Millie too pooped for parties.”
“Do you even go to parties with our old childhood teacher?”
Emily rolls her eyes and pulls her blonde hair into a sloppy ponytail. I clutch my purse on my lap and take a few breaths. I’m feeling angry, and it’s hotter than usual, so I sip my water and force a giddy smile to simmer down the moment.
Linda wipes a pizza crumb from my face. And I’m honestly curious if Emily prefers “Broke Sadie.” Back when I used to decorate the tip jar at work with top-notch colored pencil artwork, that forced consumers to acknowledge it. I used to design little garden flowers and curvy lines inspired by doilies hoping to attract people to the tip jar. “Broke Sadie” had to juggle when to go out and when to stay home. I think I may need to reawaken her. I should save more money, but it’s not like I’ve been drinking.
Linda passes me a shot glass with soda water she ordered for me. It’s her birthday week, and she has no problem with my limitations. So why does Emily?
I thank her, so we can wrap our mouths around our shot glasses and fling our heads back to take it all in. I’m so used to liquor burning my mouth that receiving something cooling is refreshing.
“So… let’s throw in an oldie and play a round of Truth, Dare, Double Dare, Promise, or Repeat!” Linda is pretty giddy if she wants to play this silly game but why not? It is her birthday.
“Okay. Who wants to start?” I ask.
