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My stomach drops and does a back flip.
“He’s getting married? Already? To who?”
I cringe at the desperation in my voice and the way it climbs to a high pitch, bordering on hysteria. Ross gives a tentative half shrug.
“I think it said Hannah… or maybe Haley?”
He’s marrying her? My heart jumps to my throat, creating a thick lump as I fight the sting building in my eyes.Shit. Don’t cry.
With all eyes on me, the group is tense, as if everyone is holding their breath waiting for me to have some kind of emotional outburst.Not here. Not right now. “Wow. Good for him. I’m glad he’s doing well.”
I laugh off the awkwardness with a shrug, trying not to let on how much it upsets me. My mind spins as the conversation drifts to other, safer topics. My stomach knots like I’m in free fall. Engaged already? The bartender delivers my soup at the perfect time, allowing me an excuse to turn away from the group and focus on the dish in front of me. Before she walks away, I ask her to bring me a lemon drop martini, too.
Fuck it.
Lisa turns on her stool, eyes boring into me, but my mind is far away now as I shovel spoonful after spoonful of a soup I can’t even taste. If I talk right now, I might cry.
Hannah couldn’t be more different from me, physically and personality. She’s tall and slender with smooth tanned skin and the cutest freckles on her nose. Her tight black curls are always perfectly styled to frame her face. Her natural beauty requires no makeup to be stunning, and she’s only more attractive because of her bubbly personality. She’s always laughing and cutting up with people.
A few years ago, I would have called her a friend, or at least an acquaintance. Someone who I’ve shared more than one bottle of wine with, but we never got into deep topics. She was fun to have around.
The soup sours in my stomach, but thankfully the bartender brings the martini over in time for me to switch from soup to pouring vodka down my throat.
Great coping skills, Mira.
Yeah, yeah, I say to the asshole voice in my head. I’ve lived with this crushing self-doubt for so long, it feels like a part of me. I’ve even considered naming her Brenda, so I can blame her for everything. It’s all Brenda’s fault that I hate myself. She’s always telling me how terrible I am.
She’s been particularly vocal since my divorce.
But honestly… she hasn’t been wrong.
I sit and contemplate my drink, letting Brenda’s screeching commentary roll over me in waves.Too Fat. Too ugly. You’ll never find love because romantic love isn’t real. And if it is, you clearly aren’t capable of it.
Yeah, I probably need professional help.
Lisa watches as I take several long gulps of the sweet and sour liquid in front of me. I catch the bartender’s eye and tap my empty glass. A wave of nausea swims through my core.
“Wanna talk about it?”
Behind us, the guys talk about the latest game they’re playing, their food getting colder and forgotten on the bar top. Tears well up in my eyes before I shake my head and start downing the next cocktail.
Not yet. Not here. Not tonight.
Chapter Two
Sunder
Gods, I am tired. Why do humans find it so difficult to make a decent cup of coffee? Almost a year on Earth, and I can count the number of acceptable cups of coffee I’ve had on one hand. I lift the dingy ceramic mug to my lips again, punishing myself with the over extracted yet caffeinated concoction.
I must admit.
It has a purpose.
Setting the mug down on the sticky laminate veneer table, I glance up at the waitress walking by. Red locks frame her fair face speckled in brown freckles. Her pants were once black, but time has faded them into something that more closely resembles charcoal gray. Only a fistful of white straws sticking up from one pocket distinguish the server’s apron around her waist.
Her full lips sneak into a smile as she catches my eye. Can she feel a pull towards me? Maybe she’s the one I’m looking for. As she passes, I catch a whiff of her overly scented perfume. I still don’t understand why these humans work so hard to mask their natural scents. Are there predators here I’m still unaware of? And if there are, it would be stupid to broadcast one’s scent with the cloying overlay of flowers and musk that I sense coming from her, but alas.
I have never expected humans to be smart.
