I close my eyes and stifle a groan. Not that I don’t necessarily want Sky to know my problems, but that girl needs to get laid or something. She always focuses on the pervy parts of anyone’s business.
“Was he any good at it?” she presses, even though I haven’t even answered her first question yet. See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about.
There’s some fumbling with the phone, and then Sage speaks up, her voice a little hoarse but no longer choking. “You’re on speaker now. ’Cause Sky’s here. Which you already know.” She clears her throat. “So let me get this straight. Your husband put you on the counter, touched you—”
“Fingered her,” Sky corrects.
Sage ignores this. “And then he said it was a mistake and took off?”
“Yes.”
“And you want to cook him dinner?”
“I’m wondering if I should cook him dinner.”
“What are you thinking of making for dinner?” Sky asks.
I shake my head even though neither of them can see me. “I don’t know yet! Because I don’t know if I should make food in the first place!”
“Well,” Sky begins thoughtfully, “did he at least give you an orgasm?”
I sigh. “Is that really relevant?”
“Yes,” they both respond at the same time.
“Well, then, no. He left me hot and bothered and disturbed.” And some emotion way too close to heartbreak to admit to.
Sage responds first. “Don’t cook him dinner. Come out with us.”
I scrunch up my nose. “Where are you guys, anyway?”
“Nadia wanted help fixing the wallpaper in her en suite.”
“Oh. Ew.” I hate home repair crap. If you need help getting ab definition for the summer, I’m your girl. If you need someone to make a few fancy meals, I can do it. Apparently if you need someone to dig up sod, I’m down for that, too. But if you need someone to repair a broken stair, or paint a wall, or clean the gutters, do not call yours truly. I’d very much rather hire anyone to take care of that stuff.
“So right now, stop thinking about Carter,” Sage says. “Watch a movie, paint your nails, put on a sheet mask. Then get dressed up and meet us at Evergreen’s Brewery for dinner.”
I make a face. “That’s all the way in Troy!”
“What’s the problem, you got a job to get up for in the morning?” That sick burn is from Sky, who adds, “Because I do!”
“What?” I shriek. “You got the job? Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I’m telling you now. And we’ll celebrate tonight. No excuses.”
And then my baby sister hangs up the phone.
“Okay, then,” I say as I grab my café and a bottle of nail polish on the way to the sofa.
15
Evergreen’s is right on thecusp of Cranberry and Troy, the nearest town to us. It’s a bit of a drive, but after Sky called and decided she’d rather we ride all together, so we can roll down the windows of my car and blast the Backstreet Boys’ first album, it feels only like ten minutes of late nineties, nostalgic, wind-in-my-hair scream-singing. Do we know, exactly, what all the BSB lyrics even mean? No. But does that mean we’re not going to yell/sing the words as we weave through rush hour traffic? Also no.
Evergreen’s is one of those rare restaurants where literally every single meal is excellent. It’s straight-up Southern comfort food, but everything has a subtle, tasty twist. Like their sweet potato casserole is seasoned with cardamom and orange zest alongside the traditional cinnamon and allspice, and their mac and cheese features an orgasmic topping made up of Creole-spiced kettle-cooked potato chips. The building is pretty big, in the middle of its own parking lot, made up of rustic-style logs and a big deck for people who prefer to eat outside. There’s a twenty-minute wait, which we use to get updates on the baby (he’s still microscopic in size, Sage hasn’t had morning sickness, but she does have an insane, supernatural sense of smell, to the point where she knows the hour someone has last showered).
As soon as we’re seated, I turn to Sky and say, “Tell us about the job.”
She shrugs her shoulder. “I’d rather hear about you fooling around with your husband.”
