Chapter 13
Birthday Kisses
Arielle Nygard
Ihaven’t been on a girl’s night out since Steve died, and I feel a bit awkward as I enter the bar. I changed my outfit for something a little fancier than my ‘mom’ sweatpants and sneakers and applied an extra swipe of mascara and fresh eye-liner, which make my brown eyes pop. The leaf-green wrap-around top goes really well with my red hair, which is hanging loose, and the generous V-neck shows off my cleavage. I swap out the sweats for a pair of low-riding blue jeans and the sneakers for a pair of strappy heels that make me rather unsteady on my feet. But they look amazing and I have so few opportunities to wear them nowadays.
As I enter the bar, Anna waves and beckons me over to the table she has secured.
“Honey, you clean up nice,” she says as she gives me a quick hug.
“Thanks. So do you.” She’s wearing a shimmery black dress that accentuates her boobs, waist, and hips and a pair of black stilettos that show off her calves. “You’re bound to catch someone’s eye in that outfit.”
She pours a margarita from the pitcher into a salt-rimmed glass and slides it over the table to me. “Cheers,” she says and we clink glasses. “Happy birthday.”
“Thanks.” I take a sip and my face scrunches as the tart and salty flavors assault my taste buds. “Wow, that’s strong,” I say with a cough. Anna fishes out a couple of ice cubes from the pitcher with a spoon and plops them into my glass. I take another sip and nod. “Much better. But I’m only having one.”
Anna nods sagely. “Uh-huh, sure. Just one drink on your birthday.”
“I mean it, Anna, I don’t want to get drunk. I have to work tomorrow.”
“Okay, okay,” she says in surrender. I spot Lisa as she comes through the front door. I raise my arm and call her name. She wends her way through the cocktail tables and greets Anna and me with hugs. Anna hands her a drink, we cheers again and settle onto barstools. A waitress brings over a menu and we order a snack platter to share.
“See anyone interesting?” I draw out the last word, asking Anna without saying whether she’s picked a target for her attentions.
“Oh, honey it’s much too early for that,” she says, understanding my question. “The good prospects are only just leaving the office.”
“If you wait much longer, you’ll be flying solo,” Lisa says. “Mark hates when I’m out too late without him.”
“Screw Mark. He’s your husband, not your father,” Anna replies and I understand why she finds it so hard to keep a man. Anna answers to nobody. The waitress drops off the platter of buffalo wings, chicken tenders, onion rings, fries, and tiny meatballs. I spear a meatball with a toothpick and eat it, hoping the food will help to line my stomach against the alcohol.
The pitcher is soon empty and is promptly replaced. Despite the food, a fair amount of alcohol has entered my bloodstream and I’m feeling relaxed and carefree for the first time in as long as I can remember. The noise of conversation from other patrons and the music blaring from the speakers mixes together into a hum of white noise that adds to my lightness. I tell Anna and Lisa about my new job.
“It’s really simple. I go to this guy’s house in the morning to feed his cat, then go back in the afternoon and play with it for a few hours. I feed him and then leave in time to fetch Austin from school. It’s not every day – just when he’s travelling or working late. Though that’s quite often, I think.”
“What’s the guy like?” Lisa asks.
“No idea. I’ve never met him. But I think he’s some sort of big deal because the house is a mansion!” They both look concerned at this revelation.
“How does that even work?” Anna wants to know.
“Someone hired me over the phone. He left instructions and access codes in the mailbox.” Neither of them seem convinced. “Look, it’s really okay. We text each other about Munchkin all the time and I’ve never gotten a bad feeling from him. Besides, a guy who goes to so much trouble for his old cat can’t be a bad guy.”
“Just be careful,” Lisa says. “The situation still sounds a bit dodgy to me.”
“Yeah,” Anna agrees. “I’ve heard nightmare stories about people who respond to ads on the internet. You could end up as a sex slave or something!” Somehow, I’m surprised that Anna finds the idea offensive. But of course, I don’t say anything. We all have that one friend.
