Skinny Bitch Gets Hitched by Kim Barnouin

great job in TV. On air, no less. I have an interesting boyfriend. So why does everything still suck?”
    I slung my arm around her shoulder. Everything didn’t really suck. She just had stuff to figure out. And my life wasn’t easy and never was. Before I could say a word, though, her cell phone rang and she lunged for it in her bag. It’s Joe, she mouthed.
    I could hear him talking because he did everything on high volume. He was saying something about having called his assistant to ask if someone had checked on the burned contestant, which of course they had, and the guy was fine and wasn’t going to sue.
    â€œMaybe there’s hope for you yet,” she said into the phone with a smile.
    â€œI wish he would sue,” I heard Joe say. “That would trend on Twitter and get written up everywhere. Great for publicity.”
    Sara sighed into the phone.
    Then I heard Joe say, “Gotta go, hot stuff.”
    Sara put the phone back in her bag. “Shitburgers, maybe there isn’t hope for him.”

    The opposite of Joe “Steak” Johansson? My cousin Harry Cooper, who had invited Zach and me to lunch—his treat—this afternoon at the Santa Monica Pier to celebrate our engagement. We were meeting at the Mexico Ole food truck.
    â€œI hope Zach won’t think that’s cheap of me,” Harry had said on the phone twenty minutes ago. “But I won’t be making the big bucks until I pay my dues and that’ll take a while.”
    â€œMexico Ole has the best burritos in LA and everyone knows it.”
    â€œDoes Zach know it? He probably never ate food from a truck in his life.”
    â€œOh, trust me, I’ve introduced Zach to all sorts of new wonders. He thinks it’s really nice that you invited us out to lunch. Zach’s not a snob.”
    â€œThere are about twenty layers of bosses above me before you get to him. Tell you the truth, I’m surprised he even agreed to go out to lunch with me.”
    â€œZach is a great guy. Yeah, he’s megawealthy and runs Jeffries Enterprises. But he’s the best.”
    â€œHe’s gotta be if he’s marrying you,” Harry had said because he’s awesome. “See you at twelve thirty, Clem.”
    Now, Zach and I sat at a picnic table as Harry, who would always look wrong to me in a suit and tie, carried over our orders. The sight of Harry Cooper always made me smile. Tall and lanky, half-surfer-dude with his slightly long blond hair, and half-corporate with his shiny black shoes and wire-rimmed glasses, Harry would always remind me of home .
    Zach opened up his steak burrito (meat: ick) and took a bite. “So, Harry, how’s life on the second floor?”
    Jeffries Enterprises had its own gorgeous art deco building, five stories, on Santa Monica Boulevard. Zach’s office, twice the size of my apartment, had the top floor with a wraparound balcony.
    â€œGreat,” Harry said, opening up his black-bean quesadilla. “I’m learning a lot. Reviewing profit-and-loss statements, writing reports on how to maximize profits. Jeffries Enterprises is having a great quarter.”
    Zach smiled. “I’m glad to have you on board.”
    I’ve always been glad to have Harry on board, ever since we were little kids. Harry, son of my dad’s brother, was an only, and since we’re practically the same age, we were inseparable growing up. He was too old to play with my brother, Kale, who’s five years younger. And my sister, four years older, couldn’t be bothered with a tagalong boy. But Harry and I were kindred sprits. His house was two miles up the road, and he’d always walk or bike over and spend a good hour talking shop with my parents from a numbers standpoint, interested at age twelve in the cost of doing business. After he jotted down notes in the little journal he carried everywhere, we’d walk into the fields with the dogs and talk for