so I'm guessing you're not even listening to these. You're making a mistake. This is all a misunderstanding. I didn't do anything with those girls. They threw themselves at me. I would never...I care about you...I lo—"
Delete.
Oh, yeah. He went there.
I was shaking with rage, standing at the curb waiting for Jamie's battered blue Buick LeSabre. He wanted me to believe it was all them?
Horseshit. I wanted to throw the phone across the road and watch it smash, but I didn't, because I couldn't afford a new one. I deleted his twenty-three texts unread.
I had one message that I hadn't read yet. I'd seen the unread mail icon but ignored it while I was in New York. It wasn't a text; it was an email.
From Jeff.
Anna:
I don't blame you for going to New York. Seriously. I get it. I'm not saying I like it, or that I'm not hurt, but I get it. Just be smart, okay? Don't let yourself get hurt. I don't know this Chase fella, and I'm not going to butt into your business, when you clearly don't want me in it. Just be careful. I don't know what I'm trying to say.
Here's my point. I'm your friend, aside from anything else. If things don't work out for you, or if they do, I'll still be your friend. I can't guarantee anything else, but at the very least, I'll be your friend. And your business partner.
I guess that's all.
Jeff
It was dated the day I left for New York. It made my eyes burn. I'd gotten my crying jag under control, but reading Jeff's email made tears prick my red and burning eyes all over again.
Stupid Jeff. He should be pissed off. He should be too angry to want to see me ever again. He had to know why I went to New York, what I was doing with Chase. He'd admitted in his roundabout Jeff sort of way to being hurt; for him to admit that in writing meant he was very deeply wounded.
But he was stil wil ing to be my friend and business partner? How the hell was that possible? If he'd done that to me, I'd never have spoken to him again. He was a better person than I, apparently.
The racketing roar of a car without a muffler disrupted my thoughts. Jamie's LeSabre pulled up next to me. The trunk popped, and Jamie hopped out. She was a few inches shorter than me, making her not quite five-seven, and she was built a bit more wil owy and svelte than me, which always made me jealous. She wore most of her weight in her hips and breasts, which were more than ample. She often talked, only halfway joking, about getting a breast reduction, if only to save her some back pain. She was a natural redhead, pure Irish orange-copper locks fal ing past her shoulders in absurdly perfect waves, and pale cornflower-blue eyes, freckles, the whole nine yards.
When I said she was willowy and svelte, that was relatively speaking. She's stil what most people would cal "plus-size." Which is why she's my best friend. We understand each other. We tel each other, when life hands us pain due to the fact that we're not diet-obsessed stick figures, that God just gave us an extra portion of awesomeness. And then we watch Breakfast at Tiffany's and share a pint of Ben and Jerry's, washed down with a bottle of wine.
In this moment, with Chase in New York and Jeff shoved aside until I had the courage to face him, Jamie was the only person I could stomach.
She was my only real family, and the one person who'd understand what I needed in that moment: cupcakes and alcohol.
She had a six-pack of Tim Horton's muffins (three left) and a grande skinny mocha waiting for me. Yeah, she's that kind of friend.
"I honestly didn't expect you to come back," Jamie said as I slid into the passenger seat.
The engine roared, and I held onto my mocha with one hand and the oh-shit bar with the other. Jamie is an...exuberant driver.
"I'm not sure I did, either," I answered, unwrapping the low-fat blueberry muffin.
"So what the hell happened?"
I ate the muffin and thought about how much to tell Jamie.
"Everything happened," I answered, after a few bites. "He took me
Delete.
Oh, yeah. He went there.
I was shaking with rage, standing at the curb waiting for Jamie's battered blue Buick LeSabre. He wanted me to believe it was all them?
Horseshit. I wanted to throw the phone across the road and watch it smash, but I didn't, because I couldn't afford a new one. I deleted his twenty-three texts unread.
I had one message that I hadn't read yet. I'd seen the unread mail icon but ignored it while I was in New York. It wasn't a text; it was an email.
From Jeff.
Anna:
I don't blame you for going to New York. Seriously. I get it. I'm not saying I like it, or that I'm not hurt, but I get it. Just be smart, okay? Don't let yourself get hurt. I don't know this Chase fella, and I'm not going to butt into your business, when you clearly don't want me in it. Just be careful. I don't know what I'm trying to say.
Here's my point. I'm your friend, aside from anything else. If things don't work out for you, or if they do, I'll still be your friend. I can't guarantee anything else, but at the very least, I'll be your friend. And your business partner.
I guess that's all.
Jeff
It was dated the day I left for New York. It made my eyes burn. I'd gotten my crying jag under control, but reading Jeff's email made tears prick my red and burning eyes all over again.
Stupid Jeff. He should be pissed off. He should be too angry to want to see me ever again. He had to know why I went to New York, what I was doing with Chase. He'd admitted in his roundabout Jeff sort of way to being hurt; for him to admit that in writing meant he was very deeply wounded.
But he was stil wil ing to be my friend and business partner? How the hell was that possible? If he'd done that to me, I'd never have spoken to him again. He was a better person than I, apparently.
The racketing roar of a car without a muffler disrupted my thoughts. Jamie's LeSabre pulled up next to me. The trunk popped, and Jamie hopped out. She was a few inches shorter than me, making her not quite five-seven, and she was built a bit more wil owy and svelte than me, which always made me jealous. She wore most of her weight in her hips and breasts, which were more than ample. She often talked, only halfway joking, about getting a breast reduction, if only to save her some back pain. She was a natural redhead, pure Irish orange-copper locks fal ing past her shoulders in absurdly perfect waves, and pale cornflower-blue eyes, freckles, the whole nine yards.
When I said she was willowy and svelte, that was relatively speaking. She's stil what most people would cal "plus-size." Which is why she's my best friend. We understand each other. We tel each other, when life hands us pain due to the fact that we're not diet-obsessed stick figures, that God just gave us an extra portion of awesomeness. And then we watch Breakfast at Tiffany's and share a pint of Ben and Jerry's, washed down with a bottle of wine.
In this moment, with Chase in New York and Jeff shoved aside until I had the courage to face him, Jamie was the only person I could stomach.
She was my only real family, and the one person who'd understand what I needed in that moment: cupcakes and alcohol.
She had a six-pack of Tim Horton's muffins (three left) and a grande skinny mocha waiting for me. Yeah, she's that kind of friend.
"I honestly didn't expect you to come back," Jamie said as I slid into the passenger seat.
The engine roared, and I held onto my mocha with one hand and the oh-shit bar with the other. Jamie is an...exuberant driver.
"I'm not sure I did, either," I answered, unwrapping the low-fat blueberry muffin.
"So what the hell happened?"
I ate the muffin and thought about how much to tell Jamie.
"Everything happened," I answered, after a few bites. "He took me
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