Pickling in Sweatpants & Ice Cream
MARI
The half-eaten pint of Ben & Jerry’s had melted into a sad cookies and cream puddle beside me, the spoon sticking out at a dejected angle, like it too had given up on life. Fourteen days since Chicago. Fourteen days since I’d watched Hudson Gable steal my future without so much as a flinch. Fourteen days of existing in a weird liminal space between functioning human and ambulatory corpse.
“Are you seriously watchingMission Impossibleagain?” Anica’s voice cut through the room as she snatched the remote from my lifeless grip. “That’s it. Intervention time.”
I didn’t even have the energy to protest as she shut off the TV and flipped open the curtains, letting in an assault of afternoon sunlight.
“Why are you here?” I mumbled, pulling my blanket over my head. “And why did I give you a key to my apartment?”
“Because you need me and you kept losing yours. Get up.”
“No. Leave me to die. Besides, don’t you have a business to run?”
“I’m multitasking. Running a business and preventing my best friend from pickling herself in sweatpants and ice cream.” She yanked the blanket away. “When was the last time you showered?”
I shrugged. “Monday? Maybe Tuesday?”
“It’s Friday, Mari.”
“Congratulations on knowing the days of the week. Your kindergarten teacher would be so proud.”
Anica sat beside me. “It’s been two weeks.”
“Wow. Gold star for Anica. I’m sure your teacher would be even more impressed that you know how to count.”
“Stop being a bitch and get up.”
“You’re supposed to be nice to me. I’m a sad bitch today.”
“Well, you’ve been a sad bitch for two weeks. Get up.”
“No.”
The days had dissolved into one another since I’d fled Chicago, leaving behind everything except my dignity, which, let’s be honest, wasn’t much to begin with after I’d slapped Hudson across his stupidly handsome face. Anica had met me at JFK with a bottle of tequila, a stack of rom-coms, and mercifully, no questions. But the grace period was clearly over.
“Two weeks isn’t that long in the grand scheme of cosmic heartbreak,” I muttered, making a half-hearted grab for the blanket.
“No, but it’s a concerning amount of time to wear the same ‘Bride Squad’ sweatpants.” She wrinkled her nose. “And it’s practically a lifetime in the wedding world. The Kussikov-Martin wedding is everywhere, Mari. It’s still trending.”
I flinched at the mention of the wedding. “Good for them.”
“Good foryou,” Anica corrected, holding out her phone. “They’re obsessed with the planners. Look.”
I squinted at the screen against my will.
Best wedding I’ve ever attended! @knotmarilandry and @gablehudson are MAGICIANS!
The way they incorporated our story into every detail was incredible. Hudson and Mari understood exactly what we wanted. Dream team!
That sparkler send-off? I DIED. @knotmarilandry and @gablehudson just raised the bar for all wedding planners everywhere.
Our handles side by side made my insides twist like I’d swallowed a nest of snakes. “Great. We’re Instagram famous again. Can I go back to my ice cream funeral now?”
Anica sighed, setting her phone aside. “Mari, this is the publicity we’ve been working toward. The Chicago expansion is officiallya success. The bank finally approved the loan, and poor Devonna’s drowning in consultation requests.”
“Then it’s a good thing we sent her out there.” I picked up my spoon, jabbing at the melted ice cream.
