Odette lunges for it, tilts her head to read through her glasses, and cackles while my pulse inches towardoh my god, he messaged melevels like I’m a teenager with my first crush.
“What?” Sheila says. “What? Did he call? Or text? You young people, never calling anymore. Let me see too.”
Evelyn snorts. “If he was sitting around waiting for Goldie to post a new picture and hoping it was him and now he’s messaging her, I officially object to even the riding the pony portion of this plan. Don’t ride the pony with men who wait for you to post pictures of them on the internets before they offer to show you what’s in their pants.”
Odette shoves my phone at me. “Open this, Goldie. I can’t see what it says. I can only see that he sent you a message.”
“Maybe they were thinking of each other at the same time and it has nothing to do with him seeing Goldie’s post,” Sheila says to Evelyn.
Evelyn replies with a raised eyebrow that telegraphs infinite doubt that Fletcher ever thinks of anyone but himself.
I take my phone and unlock it, then pull up my DMs on Insta.
Fletcher has, in fact, seen my post.
Was scrolling and this popped up. You realize that’s telling the world we’re dating.
Odette squeals.
Evelyn huffs.
Sheila pumps a fist. “The World Wide Web gods for the win! You can be a cute couple for ten more days.”
I set my phone down again, and Odette shoves it at me. “Answer him!”
“I’m having dinner with my besties. He can wait.”
“How are we going to find a fourth member of our club when you’re gone?” Evelyn says.
“Shush your trap,” Sheila hisses, which is the most aggressive thing I’ve ever heard her say.
It makes me have to swallow hard to battle the heat in my sinuses and the burn in my eyes. “I’ll video call you.”
“You better,” Evelyn says.
Dammit.
Holding back the tears is getting harder.
These ladies might’ve started as a substitute for the friends I lost when I walked into my apartment to find Stefanie sucking off Miller in my bed, but they truly are my ride-or-die besties now.
I rub my hands together. “Can we get back to business, please? Anyone have an ex-boyfriend croak recently?”
“Just Jimbo,” Sheila says.
Evelyn gasps. “Jimbo died? When? How?Why didn’t you say so?”
“Talking about Goldie’s online love life is way more exciting than talking about a guy I had three dates with a decade ago.”
“Wasn’t Jimbo the one who choked on a crab shell at dinner and then couldn’t stop clearing his throat on your second date?”
“That’s him.”
“Tell me it wasn’t a crab leg that did him in.”
“Hit his head when he fell down a flight of stairs and never woke up again.”
There’s a moment of silence at the table.
