“That fucking motherfucker,” I cry.
“Right?” Dom half-shouts. “And I’m not the motherfucker in this situation because she didn’t wanna be Frankie’s mom!” We’re no longer making sense. “I can’t hold it against her though. It was a lot. Itisa lot. I know it’s a lot to ask of someone. Of a partner.”
The back of my neck prickles. “Yeah, but she still sucks,” I tell him anyway. I will always be on his team.
He finally turns his head to look at me, squinting with one eye in a familiar way. “Thanks for the support, Hype Squad.”
“Should’ve invested in Breakup Movers and Ex-Box early.” I plop down next to him again, the tops of our heads inches apart. “But in all seriousness, I get it.”
He nods, and I feel the hair from the top of his head brush mine. “I’m afraid,” he murmurs again. “For me,andfor Frankie.”
“Well, it’s… this wouldn’t be… is not that serious,” I tell him.I just wanna suck your dick, I don’t tell him. Hoo boy. Probably time to take it easy on the wine.
Dom hums.
“I wish you didn’t tell me this while I’m sloshed on Sauv Blanc!” I can’t help but yell. “I’m having a hard time coming up with comforting things to say!”
“That would be a good pitch. Twenty-four-seven breakup hotline.”
“Sucks for them, you’re still hot as fuck!” I declare. “Honey, they didyoua favor! You were carrying that whole relationship anyway—your uh… your back doesn’t… shouldn’t...”
“As long as you don’t work as a call operator, one hundred thousand dollars.”
We’re silent for a bit.
“I’m having fun,” Dom says suddenly. “This is better than therapy. It felt good to say that to someone other than my therapist.”
“You should drink more,” I say very unhelpfully.
“I honestly can’t remember the last time I got drunk.”
I stand up for another ovation, but tilt over a bit this time. “Look at you! Relaxing so well!”
* * *
“Yes!” I sit up with a shout. I lie down again just as quickly. Because of the splitting headache that spikes through my brain. The wood of the deck again cuts into my scalp.
I pause, briefly, to consider the metaphorical implications of my first reaction—when faced with a potential threat—being an unwavering, resounding, “Yes!”
“Huh?” Dom mumbles somewhere next to me, voice like sandpaper.
“What are you… What the fuck happened?” Oliver says from beyond us.
I open one eye. Oliver is standing in the now open sliding door. He looks amused.
Georgia walks up behind him. “This patio looks like a post-battle battlefield.”
“Littered with corpses,” Oliver adds on.
Georgia indicates to the empty wine bottles with her chin. “Discarded weapons.”
Dom slowly sits up next to me, an imprint from the wood on the deck firmly carved into his cheek.
“Actually, you look like a bunch of teenagers who threw a party while their parents were out of town.”
“That is kind of what happened,” I manage to say. I have to pee. So badly. I slowly sit up to do so.
“We were locked out and had nothing else to do,” Dom rasps. “How’s Frankie?”
