“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I need time to process this.”
Willow patted his shoulder. “Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got nothing to do except wait for Cheryl to get back on your dick.”
Sad, Patrick thought. But true.
10
Two years before the yacht party
Patrick was dating someone. Her name was… Cheryl couldn’t remember. She was pretty though. Tiny and slim with straight blonde hair and a little blue sailor dress. She was fussing around Patrick’s kitchen, pouring chips into mismatched bowls.
“Hi,” Eden said. “You look busy.”
Tiny Girlfriend put her tiny hands on her tiny hips. “I am! Can you believe Patrick hasn’t organised the food yet?”
“Yes.” Cheryl plonked her four-pack of lime White Claws on the counter. “Need some help?”
“Oh no, I’ve got everything under control.” Tiny Girlfriend glanced at the hallway. “Patrick, should I put the pastizzis in the oven?”
“Uh, if you think so?” he called back.
“The spinach and ricotta pastizzis or the mushroom pastizzis?”
There was a pause.
“What are pastizzis?”
Cheryl could feel Eden looking at her and was determined not to catch her friend’s eye. Tiny Girlfriend threw them a ‘boys!’ smile. “Seriously, babe, should I put them on, or should we do pastizzis later?”
Eden hunched to hide her laughter as Cheryl stared at the ceiling. What the fuck was going on?
“Hey, Eden. Hey, KitKat.” Patrick entered the room, his hair still damp from the shower. “You guys are early.”
“You told us to get here at six,” Cheryl said accusingly. She could feel Tiny Girlfriend staring at her and didn’t much care for the vibe.
“True.” Patrick bent to kiss her cheek. “I wanted Eden to take a look at the music.”
“There it is,” Eden said, still struggling to contain her laughter. “Where’re the decks?”
“Over ther—”
“Patrick!” Tiny Girlfriend said in her fluttery little voice. “What about the pastizzis!?”
“Oh yeah.”
He slid an arm around Tiny Girlfriend’s waist, and as they talked, her voice got even higher and sweeter. She sounded like Tweety Bird.
Don’t be an asshole, Cheryl thought, pulling a White Claw from her pack. Be nice.
She and Eden retreated to the living room where the DJ booth had been assembled next to huge tubs of champagne on ice. Patrick had bought this place a few months ago and tonight’s housewarming was going to be a big one. Cheryl wished she was more excited. She felt like a bad friend.
Eden slid behind the decks and beckoned her closer. “On a scale of one to ten, how good do you think Psycho is at laying pipe?”
“What?”
“Fucking. Psycho must swing mad hammer to have Pastizzis already running around like his little housewife.”
“Don’t call Patrick’s girlfriend ‘Pastizzis.’”
