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HARLOW
“Iswear, if you check your phone one more time, I'm going to drop it in my drink.” My best friend holds up her Long Island iced tea, which we've both agreed is a terrible idea to drink but it's been a long week for both of us, and Ruby is looking to get drunk as efficiently as possible. I can’t argue with that logic.
“I know, I know.” I set the phone aside, then turn it face down in hopes that it will stop tempting me. “I'm sorry. I've been looking forward to hanging out with you tonight and I've been so distracted. That's rude.”
“You’re lucky best friends are hard to come by, or I would drop your ass.”
“Please. We both know you would be lost without me.”
“What are you so worried about, anyway? Do you want to talk about it?”
That's a loaded question. Nobody wants to admit they're having problems in their relationship—at least, I don't. I can't shake the feeling that I'm weak for knowing Kyle must be up to something, but not having the guts to confront him about it.
I can't shake the feeling that there must be something wrong with me if I'm not enough for him after four years together. Call it hubris, but I can’t help it.
“Out with it,” she insists, nudging me under the table with one of her platform sandals. “What's happening in your life? I notice you didn't say much about Kyle when I asked how he's doing.”
Because I made it a point to change the subject. She knows me too well. “You're just going to say I told you so,” I mumble, sipping my dirty martini. The cold, crisp vodka doesn't do much to cool the burning in my chest.
“You know I would never say that.” She lowers her brow, hitting me with a stern look. “Come on. You should know me better. I might think it silently, to myself, because I’m a very mature person. But I wouldn’t say it to you.”
She's right. Nobody's harder on me than I am on myself. And the truth is, I'm embarrassed at how much I've already let him get away with.
“I'm starting to think Kyle is cheating on me.”
She absorbs this in a split second before giving me a firm nod. “Let me finish my drink, then we're going after him.” The thing is, I'm pretty sure she means it, picking up her glass and acting like she's about to bolt the entire contents.
“Okay, try not to kill yourself,” I urge, laughing. “I don't need your alcohol poisoned ass on my hands tonight.”
“Why do you think this? What has he done this time?”
It feels strange, having a conversation like this in the middle of a crowded bar. I have to wonder how many such conversations have taken place under this roof. Drunk people pouring their hearts out to each other, or to a bartender who only wants to go home at the end of a busy shift.
But this is my second martini, and my tongue feels a little looser than it did when I first arrived. “He's been pulling away. You know what I mean? Distant. Distracted.”
“Okay...” She lifts her eyebrows expectantly.
“Lately, he's had a lot of late showings.” I use finger quotes around the term, rolling my eyes. “I mean, every once in a while, I expect that. Late showings, all day open houses—it's his job. I'm not going to get in the way of him trying to sell a house. But it's never been like this before. He's always got an excuse why we can't get together.”
I grimace while staring down into my drink, swirling the skewered olives while chewing my lip. “Monday night, he never came home at all.”
“And then you changed the locks after throwing all of his things out, right?”
“I'm not as extreme as you.” Though I considered it. Strongly.
“And what was his lame ass excuse?” When my eyes widen, she shrugs. “Call me psychic.”
“He said he was out with people from the office and it was so late, he figured it would be better for me if he stayed at one of his friend’s places rather than waking me up.”
“That is... not even creative.” She tips her head to the side, scowling. “Thoughjuuuustreasonable enough to be plausible coming from anybody else.”
“I know, right? He wouldn't even tell me which of them he stayed with.”
“He was probably afraid you would check up on his story.”
“I feel like such an idiot for letting him get away with it.” Saying it out loud doesn’t make me feel any better, as true as it is.
