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It’d be a win-win situation.
Siena
Girls’ Night out—or rather,In.
Jenny’s place was a cute two-bedroom house she’d bought years ago. She’d gutted the entire place, renovating it from floor to ceiling with her father and brothers. Her dad had taught her everything she knew about construction, and she worked for him at their family hardware store when she wasn’t at the winery.
She had torn down the dividing wall between the living and dining rooms, creating an open concept. The large room had light cornflower blue walls with a navy accent wall. A brick fireplace, which she’d painted white, glowed with pillar candles of various sizes instead of logs.
A huge cream-colored couch big enough to seat five people sat in the center of the room, along with two navy club chairs. And pillows galore in bright colors from every hue of the rainbow added pops of color and a cheery brightness that matched Jenny’s personality. The sofa was so cushy and soft, you almost wanted to take a nap every time you sat on it.
With four bottles of Moretti wine and my overnight bag in tow, I walked up the front steps and through the screen door. “I’m here,” I called out, setting my bag down, “and I come bearing gifts.” I walked through to the kitchen and placed the bag of wine on the counter. “Something smells good.” Two pots rested on the stove—one simmering with sauce and one with water for pasta.
Jenny’s hair was braided, silver studs in her ears. A white eyelet apron was tied around her waist. She had jeans and a deep purple top on, her feet clad in fuzzy slippers.
“Ooh.” She rubbed her hands together. “Wine, wine, wine, and more wine,” she counted out as she retrieved the bottles one by one. She smiled broadly, full of excitement. “You’re in charge of the garlic bread,” she instructed as she slid a loaf of French bread to me. “I’ll do the salad.”
She watched as I minced several cloves of garlic. “That’s an awful lot of garlic.”
“You planning on kissing anyone tonight?” I teased. “’Cause I’m not.”
She thought for a moment, contemplating. “Nope.”
“Didn’t think so.” I laughed.
I grated a cup of parmesan and added half of it to the butter mixture. Combining everything into a delicious buttery spread and slathering the bread halves, I sprinkled the top with a little more parmesan. It would crisp up nicely in the oven. “You can never have too much cheese,” I said with a flair of my wrist.
“And wine.” She motioned to the wine. “Speaking of which”—she topped the salad with avocado and seasoning—“I don’t know why we’re sitting here talking and cooking without any vino in our hands.”
“Done.” I grabbed the wine opener off the counter.
“Normally, I’d let the wine breathe for a bit, but fuck it. Just pour.” She held out her glass to me.
“Cheers!” I clinked my glass with hers, and we both sipped.
“Ding dong!” Audrey and Lauren sang together as they came through the screen door. It slammed behind them as they hurried through to us.
They screamed, dropping their bags to run to me and embraced me in a tight hug.
* * *
We satat Jenny’s table, sufficiently buzzed, and done with the small talk. I knew it was just a matter of time before the Timothy topic came up, and I’d have to fill them all in on the clusterfuck that had become my life.
“So, I’m sure you’ve caught Jenny up. But tell us everything,” Audrey said, starting the ball rolling.
“Actually, we haven’t had much time to talk. Between work and her flirting with the new hot piece of ass next door.”
“Oh god,” I groaned.
“What? Who?” Audrey asked, eyes going wide. “Do tell! Details. Details.”
“First, King Fucktard. Then, Mr. Fuck-Me-Hard. Leave the good stuff for last,” Jenny instructed, rubbing her hands together.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” Audrey and Lauren yelled in unison like they were having an orgasm.
I refilled everyone’s glasses. We were going to need it. My friends knew bits and pieces of my debacle, but they didn’t know everything. They didn’t know the one piece of the puzzle that I was still hiding from everyone. And they were going to freak out when they heard what I did. I had lived through a complete shitstorm and just wasn’t too excited about rehashing everything—even for my best friends. It wasn’t just heartbreaking. It was fucking embarrassing.
Still, if you couldn’t share the most embarrassing moments of your life with your closest friends, who could you share them with? I took a deep breath and another sip of liquid courage. “Okay, so you know about the cheating part.”
