“Bailey Mitchell!” Erica screamed in my face. “He’s a doofus! All right?! Calm. Down.”
She practically threw me into the next available cab, daring me to say another word. We rode back to the hotel in silence. I seethed, fantasizing about all the other things I should have said to Beer Boy. Yeah, I was pissed he called me a ‘fucking bitch,’ but I really just used him to lash out about my feelings toward Brian. I wish I would have exploded all over him at the bar instead of reigning in my anger. At the mere thought of Brian, I burst into tears—going from irate to depressed in zero seconds flat. It was just the beginning of a long night.
***
I sat nestled in the good beach chair, staring blankly at the ocean. I wore my oversized sunglasses to hide my puffy, red-rimmed eyes. Last night’s crying session was a doozy. Erica was too good to me, and I didn’t deserve a bit of it, especially since I told her her children were ruining my life.
“Honey, I know,” she said, holding my head on her lap while she stroked my hair. “They’re ruining my life, too. You don’t think I’d rather be in Miami right now?”
I chuckled. “I’m sorry, Erica. You know I didn’t mean it. I love your kids. They’re not ruining my life.”
“They did tonight, and I’m sorry for that,” she said.
“No, they didn’t. I did. It’s me. Always me . . .” I had much more I wanted to say, but the words caught in my throat: My fault. My fault. My fault he left me.
There was no more conversation that night, just the sound of bitter heartbreak. The shattered pieces manifested themselves as tears. The aching in my chest burst forth in a long, painful groan. The memories of my former lover tangled in the hitching in my throat. It all came out ugly and desperate and wrong. But I was lucky because I had a best friend to share in my grief, to hold me and stroke my hair and tell me sweet lies.
“I can’t believe I’m drinking a margarita out of a can,” Erica said.
I cracked a smile and took another sip of my own margarita. It actually wasn’t that bad, but I was more concerned with alcohol by volume. And this baby’s percentage was nothing to be ashamed about.
“What time is it?” Erica asked.
I glimpsed my cell phone. “Ten o’clock.”
“Too early for those sandwiches?”
I shook my head.
“Why do I eat like a horse on the beach? And did we pack enough chips?”
I chuckled and flipped open the cooler lid.
“We packed plenty. And it’s just something about the beach air. Makes you hungry.” I tossed her a sandwich and a bag of apple slices.
“Bitch, I don’t want these. I want chips,” Erica said.
“You get the chips after I see you eat some apple slices,” I replied.
“Oh, I see. Payback,” she said.
Erica forced me to eat breakfast this morning. I wasn’t hungry in the least, but she said if I didn’t put something in my body, I could forget about drinking. And all I wanted to do was sit my ass in that beach chair all day and guzzle adult beverages. Well, and scope out hotties.
I pushed the sand around with my feet, trying for a crop circle design, breathing in and out, slowly and deeply, letting the full sun beat down on my shoulders. I only liked the beach when the sun shined bright and dangerous in the sky. Not that I was looking for skin cancer. (I slathered myself from head to toe in SPF 100.) No, I was looking for light, for warmth on my face. I wanted it to transport me far away, up and over the ocean, to a brand new place where I could be a brand new person. In other words, I wanted to take a nice, long beach nap.
“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Erica said with her mouth full.
I looked over at her. “What do you mean?”
“I want today to be fun, but you’re all moody and sad,” she said. “And for good reason.”
“It is fun,” I lied. “I’m having fun just sitting here.”
Erica grunted.
“I promise,” I insisted. “I won’t let last night ruin our trip.”
Erica shrugged. And then she giggled. “Usually when you’re drunk you have a hard time enunciating your words.”
“Isn’t that most people?” I replied.
“I suppose.” She thought for a moment. “But you just told that kid off. It was so sharp. So hysterical.”
“Oh really? Because you seemed pissed as hell,” I said.
“Well, I don’t know what those guys could have done. I knew the safest thing was to remove ourselves from the situation altogether,” Erica explained. “And then laugh about it later in the shower.”
I giggled, then reached inside the cooler for another drink.
“Food,” Erica ordered, and I grabbed the bag of chips she wanted. “You’re impossible,” she whined.
Wasn’t that the truth.
I rounded the corner and slammed into him. And was subsequently distracted from counting my steps. My OCD was in overdrive today. Why? Because my anxiety was somewhere up in space. I was terrified of running into him. And I’m talking in the figurative sense. I actually, literally, ran into him! Well, technically he ran into me.
“Gosh, I’m sorry, Bailey!” he said, helping me to my feet. Yes, I forgot to mention that I fell on the floor, the papers I was delivering strewn about the hallway in a disorganized mess.
“It’s okay,” I replied. I was so frazzled that I didn’t even take note of the way my hand felt in his. I’d have to imagine it was perfect. “Seems we have a knack for falling in front of each other.”
He smiled down at me and adjusted his collar. “Yeah, but the difference here is that I bulldozed you. Are you sure you’re okay?”
I nodded, and he sighed relief.
“You helped me up and left the papers on the floor,” I pointed out. I worried it came out accusatory instead of playful. So I grinned, and he seemed to like it.