Carla and Odette tied the knot almost a year ago, give or take a few months. Theirs was a whirlwind romance, dating less than a month before eloping to Sin City. That was their first mistake. They barely knew each other and people who believe themselves in love turn a blind eye to red flags.
“What about counseling?” I query, resting my arms on the table. “I thought you said things were going great.”
“Not anymore,” she proclaims, tearing open a sugar packet and emptying the crystallized sweetener into her chamomile tea. “It’s time to start a new chapter in my life.”
“Amen to that,” Pete agrees, giving her a high five.
“Aren’t you throwing in the towel a bit prematurely?” I press further.
Granted, a short courtship and rushed drive-thru wedding doesn’t scream happily ever after, but all marriages have their ups and downs. No relationship is perfect. Sometimes patience, open communication, and a little tender love and care are all that’s needed.
“No, I’m done,” Carla states resolutely. “I’m single and ready to mingle.”
“Technically, you aren’t single until the divorce is finalized,” Wren remarks, effectively raining on her parade. She can’t help pointing out technicalities. It’s the criminal defense attorney in her.
Carla’s amber eyes narrow to tiny slits. “Don’t make me shove my foot up your bony ass.” She can’t help being temperamental. It’s the Irish in her. Wild fiery-red hair attests to her lineage, though she lacks the lilting brogue due to transplanting to the States at a young age.
“I’ve gained two pounds so far this month for your information,” Wren declares proudly, then retorts, “Thunder thighs.”
I smile, shaking my head at them. Their scathing barbs may seem over the top to strangers, but that’s just how they are. There’s no hate or discord between them. It’s their unique love language. Initially, their banter unnerved me, but I’ve grown used to their verbal battles.
“She’s got you there, thunder thighs.” Pete snickers.
“I love my thunder thighs.” Carla spears a pineapple with her fork. “Thank you very much.”
Wren is naturally thin, maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet, if that. A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips doesn’t apply to her. She hates her size, though, and does everything under the sun to put some meat on her bones. Everyone has something about themselves they don’t like. We’re our own worst critics.
“Did you tell her yet?” Pete asks, adjusting his prescription butterfly eyeglasses.
“She’ll put two and two together when I move out,” she quips.
He whistles low. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
“When are you moving?” I ask her.
“Wednesday,” she responds. “A coworker has a spare bedroom and needs a roommate to make ends meet. Will you be free to help? There’ll be pizza in it for you,” she adds, waggling her eyebrows.
“Sure, you know I can’t resist pizza.” I grin. “What time?”
“Eight good for you?”
“Yeah, I can manage that.”
Wren is busy lawyering it up during the day and Pete is a stay-at-home dad. He and Jamieson, his husband, have two little ones via artificial insemination. The same surrogate carried both children.
“And another thing, I’m pretty sure Odette is having an affair with her boss.”
Wren jerks her attention from her cell phone. “What makes you say that?”
“I saw her packing lingerie for herworktrip,” she explains. “Not a regular nightgown to sleep in. The racy G-string and garter belt type. They left yesterday and will be gone for an entire week, just the two of them.”
“No,” Pete gasps, placing a hand over his mouth. “That bitch.”
“Tell me about it,” she grumbles. “But you know what? I’m not going to dwell on it. Let’s go to Chino’s tonight and celebrate my newfound freedom.”
“Count me out,” Pete says. “Jamieson’s parents are coming over for dinner.”
“I’m celebrating all summer long, so you can party with us next weekend,” Carla states, shaking salt onto her home fries. “I’m definitely getting laid tonight,” she boasts confidently, determination lacing her words. “Pussy or dick, I don’t care which. Just put whatever in my fucking face.”
