"Oh stop. I’m twenty-eight but lately I feel forty-five."
She makes a disgusted sound in the back of her throat. "Neophyte."
"You don't want fancy wine but you use a fancy word?"
She shrugs. "I learned it today at the bookstore. It was empty because, shocker, it's ugly as sin in that place with fuck-all to do in the way of fun. Anyway, I was reading a book and that word was in it. I had to look it up, and now my vocabulary has grown by one word."
I high-five her, grinning. "How old are you?"
She narrows her gaze. "It's impolite to ask that question of your elders."
I give her a pointed look and she says, "Thirty-five."
I gasp and pretend to be horrified. She looks around for something to throw at me, but there isn't anything on the table except our forearms. Seriously, she looks amazing for her age. I thought she was only a year older than me.
She sticks her tongue out at me, then looks around for a server. When she spots one, she signals them over.
"I'll have the amber ale in the coldest glass you have," she tells the young guy in the black polo. "And a food menu."
He looks at me, gaze expectant.
"Two, please."
When he leaves, Livvie starts speaking: "I need to talk, but I can't until I've had a sip of beer."
I nod, considering her words. "Then I'll talk while we wait. I went to church with my mom today. Apparently she goes every week, and she has been doing so for some time. I had no idea."
"Is it a big deal that she's going to church?"
"No. It's just that I didn't know, and things like this keep happening. It's not like I moved away and didn't speak to her. We spoke often. I even came back here to visit. They weren't long trips, but it's not as if I left and never came back."
"You’re hurt she didn’t share more about her life?"
I shake my head. "No."
Maybe.
"You sound like your feelings are hurt."
I chuckle. “Maybe a little.”
The server walks up with our drinks. He tosses down two cardboard coasters, then sets down the beers, followed by two menus. "I'll be back for your order."
Livvie's arm shoots out, stopping him. "Wait a sec," she says, quickly scanning the menu. "I'll have a basket of green chili fries."
He nods and looks at me.
I shake my head. "Nothing for me, thanks."
"Do not tell me you're on a diet," Livvie says as he gathers the menus and leaves. She says the worddietas if it's responsible for a heinous crime.
"I already ate," I explain. “It’s nine and I’ll get heartburn if I eat a basket of chili fries right now and go to bed.”
"What does that have to do with anything? Fries are fries." She lifts her beer and knocks it gently against mine. "To neophytes and their elders."
I grin and sip my drink. It's crisp and cold. "So?" I urge Livvie. “Talk.”
"My husband is an asshole." She takes a long drink. "A giant asshole."
