So do I blame it on work and try to keep myself together, or do I tell her about Keegan and let the snot-soaked Kleenex fall where they may?
“I think I’m too invested in my career and use it to distract from my lack of personal life.”
Reb pauses, her drink halfway to her mouth, and gives me a blank stare. “Um ... definitely too invested.” She takes a hasty sip and then adds. “And just to be clear on this, I am the queen of being too invested in my work. So if I think you’re too invested, then it’s bad.”
Her ready agreement makes me defensive. “But maybe working on Sunday is okay. I mean, you’re here and–”
Reb cuts me off. “Do not use me being at work on a Sunday as inspiration. I have a horrible work/life balance.”
I glance over my shoulder toward the plate glass windows that reveal the bullpen where so many other people are also working on a Sunday.
“No. Don’t look at them either. Gaming is a shit industry that over-works and undervalues all of their employees. Besides, all of those fools are here because I’m here on a Sunday, and they’re afraid I’ll fire them if they go home when I’m still at work. And I’m only here because I think success at work will earn me my father’s love.”
I sit up straighter in my chair. Who is this person and what has she done with my friend?
“That is very insightful,” I say slowly. For someone dressed like an overgrown toddler.
She jabs a finger at me. “Damn straight it is. There are only a few advantages to having a rich, but emotionally unavailable father who marries a ‘spiritual journey’ coach who is half his age. But one of them is his willingness to pay for a lot of therapy.”
“Okay,” I draw the word out slowly, because, honestly, this might be the most Reb has ever said to me about her family life. If she’s suddenly in the mood to talk about her daddy issues, shouldn’t I let her? “How do you feel about that?”
She gives me a flat look and then slowly arches an eyebrow. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Try to distract from your problems by talking about my problems.”
“I wasn’t—”
“Yes, you were.” Reb gives me a hard look. “Just like you’re trying to distract me from what’s really wrong by talking about your career. You’re hardworking, and you’re talented, and your career will be fine.”
“But I—”
“Please tell me you’re actually crying because you finally had sex with Keegan and it was amazing and earth shattering.”
But then she tips her head to the side and seems to consider her words. “But wait, if you did have amazing and earth-shattering sex with Keegan, why are you angry crying about it?”
Suddenly, I can’t sit still. I leap to my feet and start pacing. “Because sex ruins everything.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s not true.”
I turn and glare at her.
“Okay, admittedly, I don’t have a ton of experience in the area of meaningful relationships, but isn’t sex supposed to make everything better?”
“No. Not friendships. Sex ruins friendships. It’s a documented fact.”
“Really? Documented? I’m going to need you to send me your references on that.”
“Okay. I will.”
Her gaze narrows. “So what? Like, you’ve got a list of journal articles curated about scientifically rigorous, double-blind studies about how sex ruins friendships?”
“Actually, I do.”
“Without quoting fromWhen Harry Met Sally?”
Despite myself, despite still feeling like I’m about to burst into tears, my lips twitch. Damn Reb and her clever, smarty-pants brain.
