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I finally let his shirt go and ran instead.
Wow, I was drunk. And unafraid. And stupid.
And wow, does extreme shame make a hangover ten times worse. Or maybe it’s the other way around.
Whatever the case, that hammer knocks hard against my temples, making the saliva in my mouth thicken.
As if my ego isn’t bruised enough. Now I’m going to puke in front of my mom and aunt.
I should’ve punched Riley in the face and walked out of the restaurant with my head held high.
Instead, I kinda-sorta fondled him like the sex-starved lunatic I am.
Cringe. Even if he did seem to be into it.
Like. Really into it, if the offer of hate sex was any indication. Was he serious?
Face burning, I shove that thought aside. Doesn’t matter what Riley’s intention was. I never want to see him again, much less have sex with him. “I’ve been up. I was hoping to fall back asleep, but no dice. Lately I wake up at the ass crack of dawn whenever I drink.”
Mom, who’s flipping through a Southern Living magazine that appears to have been published circa 1996, grins. “Welcome to adulthood.”
“You seem to be pretty chipper for someone who drank a bottle and a half of wine last night,” I say.
What I don’t say? And what I know Lady and I are both thinking?
Mom’s chipper because Dad’s not here. He’s in Raleigh this week, visiting some of The Gibbes Group’s biggest clients.
I’m glad Mom is happy today. But not gonna lie, it hurts knowing she’s pretty miserable when Dad is around. Like all kids, I want my parents to be happy. And for a long time, I truly believed they were.
“I’ve had more practice than you,” Mom continues. “It takes a lifetime to build up this kind of tolerance.”
“Fifty years at least.” Aunt Lady beats me to the coffee, filling a mug. “Cream and sugar, honey?”
“Tiny splash of skim if you have it.”
Lady makes a face. “Really?”
I shrug. “I like my coffee like I like my men. Bitter and black-hearted.”
“Take the cream and sugar.” My aunt stirs a good bit of both into the mug. “Let’s not let that polo-wearing prick ruin everything.”
Despite the shame I feel about my behavior last night roiling my gut, it’s my turn to grin as I take the mug from my aunt. Never thought my dirtbag ex-fiancé would be a welcome change of subject. “Thanks for hating on Patrick. He is a prick. Also, thanks for the coffee. It’s such a treat when someone makes me a cup.”
Lady eyes me. “Patrick never made you coffee?”
“Well, no.” I settle onto a stool at the island and wrap my hands around my mug, the heat warming my palms in the most pleasant way imaginable. “Cooking—the kitchen—that’s always been my thing. He kind of just let me have at it.”
“You mean he let you do all the work.” Aunt Lady is a professor of gender studies at UNC Wilmington and a staunch feminist, so it’s no surprise she’s rolling her eyes right now. “Typical. Be glad you jumped that ship.”
“He actually jumped my ship, so . . .”
Mom frowns. “Patrick worked long hours. He didn’t have time to cook.”
“And your daughter doesn’t work long hours too?” Lady asks. She and Mom may look alike, with their thick hair and Pa’s eyes and nose, but they couldn’t be more different. Lady’s a free spirit, whereas Mom is a staunch traditionalist.
“Well, yes. But that’s different,” Mom replies. “Patrick helped out with the yard. And at least he did his own laundry. Elliot doesn’t even know where our washing machine is.”
Lady sputters. “So you’re saying Louise should be grateful for whatever scraps of respect her partners throw her way?”
Mom tsks. “Of course not. I’m just saying Patrick did what he could.”
You’re saying I should feel lucky my partner was nice to me at all, because Dad’s never been especially nice to you. I grew up thinking my parents were perfect. That’s the image they projected, anyway. But the older I got, the more I began to see the cracks in their perfect façade. Same goes for my grandparents.
But I don’t want to go there, so I quickly sip my coffee and let out a groan. “Wow, Lady, that’s good.”
Aunt Lady’s expression softens. “Like your grandmother said, it’s best to start your day off sweet. Especially when you’re in the midst of an awful breakup with a man who had sex with multiple other women and didn’t use condoms.”
“Louise, what time are you supposed to meet Goldie?” Mom asks in a clear bid to change the subject. “Y’all are going to see the planner and finalize the setup at the club, right?”
She gets up from the living room’s well-worn chair and pads over to the kitchen, opening the dishwasher to put her mug inside.
“Yup.” I dig my phone out of the pocket of my shorts. My head throbs when I see a text from Goldie. I hope she doesn’t hate me for being such a hot mess today. “Shit. She wants to meet in twenty minutes. I guess Cooper took the ferry over a little while ago, and he and his best man are going to meet us at The Ocean Club.”
