“And last,” she continues. “Rule numberthree, definitions of all words must be read out loud for participants’ educational benefit.”
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I can spurt out definitions from the top of my head.
I get that it was meant to improve our vocabulary, but now that I’ve started regurgitating this information to strangers who piss me off, I’m beginning to resent the rule.
And by strangers, I really do just mean Nate.
Dammit, Vivienne, you’re thinking about him again.
“Okay, Vivienne.” Evelyn claps once. “You can start the game.”
Figures. My life has been in shambles since the beginning of September.
I look down at my letters, finding the tiles rearranging themselves untiloneword is screaming at me. My eyes squint on their own accord, hoping—praying—to find a more appropriate four-letter word for this very PG game night, but nothing comes.
“You know, you never told us what went down when you were away at Nate’s.” Sutton shuffles her letters, but the not-so-subtle glances she shoots me give her away—she’s looking for the scoop, and, unluckily for her, she isn’t getting it.
Savoring the long sip of my margarita, I stare at my letters in search of a better word but come up empty. I have no other choice but to go through with this.
“What’s taking you so long, Vivienne?” Evelyn asks when five minutes have passed, and I still haven’t played.
I work up the courage to place down my very first tile, the shame too high to contain.
C.
“You never answered my question,” Sutton singsongs, eyeing me as she sips on her drink.
I shoot her the side-eye, placing down the second letter.
U.
“We’re never going to sleep if we play the game at this rate,” Evelyn whines as I place my third tile.
N.
The last tile is in my hand, ready to be played, but I’m tossing it up and down as I question the entirety of my life choices.
“Oh, save us from our misery,” Sutton pleads.
At her request, I place the last tile down on a whim.
T.
I wince as I take in the letters strung together to form their word.
C. U. N. T.
Cunt.
Both Sutton’s and Evelyn’s eyes widen in shock before they burst into laughter. Their amusement becomes increasingly more evident as one wheezes her lungs out and the other coughs up a storm.
“Is it only me, or did it suddenly get hot in here?” Sutton fans a hand across her face. “I’m pretty certain our friend over here got some action this weekend,” she addresses Evelyn. “No wonder you didn’t want to answer my question!”
My face falls flat, and my lips press into a thin line. “Nothing happened this weekend.”
“I don’t know,” Sutton teases with a finger pointed at the board. “A wise man once said that the words played during Scrabble are a reflection of one’s truest self and inner turmoil.”
“And who said that?” I ask.
