Willow was waiting for me in the lobby when I came downstairs.
"Rough day?" she asked sympathetically. "Did you hear any news about Henry?"
I shook my head.
"Let's get a drink. I'm sure he'll be fine. Little kids bounce back," my friend assured me, putting her arm around my waist.
"I guess."
"You need to find a better place for your tiny house," Willow told me as we walked to the old beat-up pickup truck.
"I can't even unhitch it," I told her as we climbed into the truck cab and I started the engine. Or tried to anyway. It churned over and over.
"Come on!" I pleaded. "Not today." It finally started, and I let out the breath I was holding.
"Does it always make that weird clicking noise?" Willow asked as I slowly navigated us out of the parking lot.
"I think so?" I said. "But I just turn on the radio."
"That's probably not a good idea."
"Story of my life."
"I think your trailer might be busted too," Willow said, looking in the side mirror. The house listed side to side even though I was driving slowly. I was tense as I drove, trying not to hit anything.
The sweat was dripping down my scalp as I parked the house. I had to pay for two on-street parking spaces, and the top of the tiny house scraped against the tree branches when I pulled in.
"Do you think the house is going to be okay on the street?" I asked as Willow and I walked into the busy bar and followed the hostess to a table.
"Do you really think anyone is going to steal that death trap?" Willow remarked as we looked over the menu that featured high-end pub food. "After the day you've had," Willow said, "I think you need a cocktail."
When the waitress put down our drinks, I took a long sip.
"That straw is just for stirring," Willow said, pulling the glass away from me. "You're not supposed to drink it like water."
"I need it," I said, pulling it back from her.
The waitress brought an order of pretzel bites to the table, and I was distracted by the gooey beer cheese and the tangy mustard dip long enough for Willow to take the straw out of the cocktail.
"These are amazing," I sighed. "I wish I had an actual kitchen where I could cook food like this."
"You haven't been cooking in the tiny house?"
I snorted. "I can barely survive in the tiny house. I think it's trying to kill me."
Willow laughed. "It can't be that bad."
"It doesn't even have a microwave."
Willow grimaced. "Svennson PharmaTech is about to not have microwaves. Tara wants to have them all taken out because of that fire you started."
"You're supposed to make me feel better, not throw my shortcomings back in my face," I complained.
When the hamburgers arrived, she pushed mine toward me. "Here. Eat your feelings."
"That's the plan!" I replied, looking up to see the waitress set down a mason jar filled with a gooey golden liquid.
"Thanks?" I said confused. "I didn't order this."
