We haven’t known each other all that long, but our friendship is the type that feels like we’ve been friends forever. From the very start, we were close. We quickly developed inside jokes and bad habits of oversharing about everything. Me texting her when I had a suspicious rash and her sending me unsolicited dick pics she got from guys she was texting. When people meet us they assume we’re childhood friends. We just get each other, which is why she knows now that something is up.
“Nothing,” I say almost too casually, but I am determined to not open the floodgates by bringing up He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.
“Liar,” she says matter-of-factly, sipping on her wine.
“I am not!”
“You are too. You’remaking the same face you made before we were friends and I wore those red leather pants and you told me they looked veryOops!…I Did It Again.
“Well, they did look very Britney,” I say.
“Yeah! Like shave her head and smash a car window, Britney!” The wine in her hand sloshes as she mimics the infamous scene.
“Those pants were terrible,” I admit.
“Well, I know that now. But had I known your face three years ago, I would have known it then too.”
“Okay!” I blurt out because, honestly, I am too weak to hold it in any longer. “I met a guy.”
“You met a guy?”
“I met a guy.”
She flicks off the TV and turns her whole body toward me, sitting up so she is in herI’m really listeningstance.
“He works at Monroe’s. He dropped the Maverick off when I was at Dad’s.”
“Ooh, a mechanic. Good with his hands.” She winks and I ignore her.
“I drove him back to the garage in possibly the most uncomfortable silence. But then I saw him again on my way to the library yesterday.”
“A mechanic that reads?” She asks, her face tilted.
“No, I was getting a coffee and he was smoking outside.”
“Ah, a mechanic that smokes. Now that makes way more sense.” She nods her head like all is right again in the world.
“Correct. And I don’t know what it is, but I can’t seem to shake him.”
Chloe lets out an ear-piercing squeal. “Claire! This is so exciting!”
I roll my eyes and lean back in my seat. “It’s really not.”
“I’m serious!” she continues. “You haven’t even talked about a guy since what’s his name.”
“Mark,” I say.
“Right, since what’s his name latka-ed the hell out of some other girl’s potatoes.”
“I’m pretty positive that makes absolutely no sense,” I say.
“You knowwhat I mean. This is great! Now I get to hear about your guy stuff for once.” Chloe has been going on horrible date after horrible date for quite a while, and although it’s fun hearing about her misfortunes, I’m sure she appreciates some reciprocation on the subject.
“Well, don’t get too excited. He barely knows I exist.”
She grabs her phone from the end table. “Well, that’s fine. We’ll just—”
“He doesn’t have social media,” I interrupt. “I checked.” It wasn’t my finest moment going all crazy-girl detective, but around hour forty-eight, I had to do something.
