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“Will you have a hideous scar?” she asked.
“I hope so. It’ll make up for the humiliation of everyone seeing my ass.”
“You have a perfectly nice ass,” she said.
“Thanks, Mom.” I smiled.
“Do you have a ride home? I assume Judith is with you? Or Hannah? Daddy can come get you. He’s sleeping now, but of course he’ll be happy to get you if you need him.”
I knew he would, dear old Dad, but glancing at the time, I figured it was too late for them. Plus, it was snowing. “All set there, but thanks.” I’d take a Lyft or see if anyone was driving at Stoningham Taxi.
Just then, Hannah texted, insisting that I call her for a ride, saying she was so sorry I was hurt (and could I send a picture of the wound. She was creeptastic that way). I’ll get a Lyft, I texted.
The hell you will. You fell at my house in the pants I made you buy. I am so your ride.
Okay, bossypants. Speaking of pants, the pleather had to be cut off me. Very dramatic. Cute PA, too.
I take it Judith had something come up?
I sighed. Yep. At least she’s consistent.
Okay, babe. Call me when you’re ready. Love you.
Best friends were…well…the best.
I also had texts from Legend, LT and the Chief, asking how I was. I answered them all. Closed my eyes and dozed a little, the clatter and voices outside my room comforting in that odd way… Grownups were in charge, and I didn’t have to be one of them right now.
I woke up, my head throbbing again. Not too bad, just pulsing. Glanced at my phone. Another text from Hannah, saying she was going to bed, but she had her phone on. One from her mom, checking to see if I was okay.
Nothing from Judith. Still.
Suddenly, I was furious. With myself. What an idiot I’d been these past few months! What did Maya Angelou say? The first time someone shows you who they are, believe them. Sorry, Ms. Angelou. I’d forgotten that.
Being with Judith was like death by a thousand paper cuts. The little insults, the sense of superiority, her availability only when it was desirable for her. How dare I let myself be treated like that? Seriously, why? Because she was pretty and creative and British and hot? Fuck that. I deserved better.
I snatched up my phone again and typed.
In case it’s not clear, I can SEE that you read my message, you selfish twat. (Some of her Britishisms had rubbed off on me.) I’m in the HOSPITAL and you can’t be bothered to type back? If that’s not a definitive way to tell me how little you care, I don’t know what is. We’re done. Merry Christmas, and fuck you very much.
Then I deleted that and typed, Hey. I think it’s better if we don’t see each other anymore. Best of luck with everything. Sam.
The three dots began waving immediately. For God’s sake.
Sorry, darling, what? I just now saw your text. Just getting into the car now to come see you. My poor little bear!!!
It was 1:45 a.m. She’d read the text at 10:52 p.m. Almost three hours ago.
I called her. She didn’t pick up. Of course not. Now that she wasn’t a hundred percent in control, she was abruptly interested in me. She’d be here, angel of mercy, cooing over me because I’d just dumped her, not because I was hurt.
God, I was sick of her games. Games in general. Why couldn’t people just be honest? I didn’t want to have to outmaneuver Judith to get her to like me. I didn’t want a relationship where we had to fight or bicker or ignore or read each other’s minds. I wanted someone who’d be happy to see me and wanted nothing more than to just…share my everyday, ordinary, happy, meaningful life.
I texted again. Please don’t bother. It’s snowing, and you’re terrible driver anyway. I’m fine and really don’t see the point of you coming.
Whoosh. Delivered. Read.
No answer.
I sighed and closed my eyes, resting my head against the pillow. I guess I dozed off again, because the next thing I knew, Judith was breezing into the room, dressed in a black cape, black leggings, black leather boots and a red wool cap. Glorious, deep red lipstick. I guess makeup and wardrobe were part of her rush to my side. “Samantha!” she cried. “Oh, darling, look at you, your poor mite.”
