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She rolled her eyes. “I know I’m not still in college, Zoe. But that doesn’t mean wehaveto act like old ladies and be in bed by eight PM.”
“Who’s in bed by eight?” I argued. “We are out. At a bar. On a school night. It might not be a rager, but it’s still fun. Just… more mature fun.”
“I’m sorry, which one of us won that keg stand competition junior year?”
I made a face.
“Was that the same girl who slept with her TA during finals week? Or the one who got us into that Cinco de Mayo party where Luella’s hair got set on fire? Or the one who bribed your math tutor to drive us all the way across the state line to go to thatSay Yesshow?
“I get it. I was a wild one.”
She chuckled and shook her head. “If Past You could see you now.”
“What do you want from me, Sasha?” I said, exasperated. “You keep making fun of me for being a boring mom, so I got a sitter for Rex and I dressed up and pounded a cup of coffee to stay awake, and now you’re telling me it’s not enough.”
She backtracked. “Whoa, Zoe, I’m sorry. I don’t want you to think I’m not happy to see you. I’m glad you made time for me.” She took a sip of water and sighed out hard. “I think I’ve just been feeling a little old and unwanted lately.”
“Oh?” I asked, not quite ready for forgive just yet. “Did your husband decide he wanted to fuck his twenty-three-year-old grad students?” I had to stop myself from addingwith the tiny waists, the perky tits, and the lack of C-section scars.
“Zoe…"
I didn’t feel like a pep talk from Sasha about how I’m still hot and I’ve still got it and how I’ve got an ass people write poems about. Sasha’s words, not mine. Honestly, I liked the way I looked. I liked my hair. I liked my curves. I liked the way I looked in short dresses. I had a healthy amount of self-confidence. My looks weren’t the issue.
The issue was that my husband of ten years announced that he didn’t love me anymore and that he wanted a more “new age” approach to relationships. To him, this meant dating multiple women at once. And those women all tended to be smarter than me. And better spoken. And so much younger.
The bartender approached, holding two more shots of amber liquid. Probably Fireball again, which was a definitehellno from me. She gingerly placed the shots down in front of us. Well, in front of Sasha.
“We didn’t order these,” I tell the bartender.
“They’re from the gentleman by the dart board,” she informed us, pointing to a good-looking man across the room.” She smiled before walking away.
Sasha picked up one of the glasses, eagerly. She turned around to give the guy a smile and a little wave.
“Isn’t that nice of him, getting us some more shots,” she said.
“I suppose so.”
“Come on, aren’t you a little bit flattered? Strangers buying us drinks… This is like… proof that we’ve still got it.”
“You’vestill got it,” I told her. “Those were clearly for you.”
Because, oh yeah. Sasha was gorgeous. She was a model. Like, an actual model. Retired now, but when she was younger, she walked runways in Paris and New York. Again, I liked the way I looked. And it took a certain level of security with oneself to have a model as a best friend. But, at the end of the day, I also had to be real.
“There’stwoof them,” she pointed out. “He could be interested in either of us.”
“No, he’s interested in you and sent a courtesy shot to me, so he didn’t look shallow,” I told her.
Her eyes darted back to the guy. He waved at her. She looked back at me.
“Go,” I told her. “One of us should get laid tonight.”
She got up from the barstool. “I’ll be right back, Zoe. Ten minutes,” she assured me. “Fifteen tops.” But, as she beelined over to the shot-sender guy, she grabbed her purse. I sighed and signaled to the bartender to refill my class of sauvignon blanc. I had a while.
“Thanks,” I told her.
“You got it,” she said with a knowing look.
I took a sip of the cool, crisp, surprisingly good wine telling myself that this was fine. I could spend an evening of drinking alone in a bar, pretending that something on my phone wasfascinating, until my friend came back. If she came back.
