Page 82 of 10 Rings I Hate About You
“Glamma was there,” I said pointedly. “And so were Martha, Gladys, and Goldie.” I stirred my coffee. “It was less candlelit dinner for two and more of a surprisegame show with four elderly audience members who were definitely taking notes.”
Adele leaned forward and propped her chin in her hand, giving me her full and focused attention. “Did they really ask you questions about each other?”
“Yes. And we weirdly knew a lot of things about each other,” I admitted, and then immediately regretted the way that sentence sounded. “Not like—it wasn’t—this is a small town. Of course we’d know things.”
“Iknewit!” Her eyes lit up as if she’d found her favorite special edition hardback amidst a bunch of knockoffs. “I always said the hatred you two felt went so deep that there must be more to it.”
“Yes, more hatred,” I grumbled into my coffee cup. “Regular hatred, but make it layered.”
“Or—” she paused for maximum drama—“more like L, O, V, E.” She actually sang it as though she was a fairytale villain who decided to switch sides. “Love.”
“I’m revoking our friendship.”
“You can’t.” She waved her fork at me. “We’ve known each other since we were little. There’s some kind of clause. Once you pass fifteen years, the return window closes permanently. Sorry. It’s the law.”
She stuck her tongue out at me.
I stuck mine back out at her.
We were clearly very mature women.
“Order up!” Matt bellowed from behind the serving window, and Nora, our waitress, materialized beside our booth with our food in no time.
“Hey girls,” Nora said with a bright smile as though we were her favorite thing about this morning. She had a sweet,open nature that everyone loved. “One French toast with a side of well-done home fries.” She set that plate in front of me—perfectly golden, dusted with powdered sugar, and maple syrup pooling just right. “And one veggie omelet for you, Adele.” She straightened up. “Can I get either of you anything else?”
“I’m good,” Adele answered, and then cut into her omelet, took a bite, and let out a soft groan. “Perfection, Matt. Again,” she said loud enough for him to hear.
Matt grunted. In Matt’s language, that was practically a tearful thank-you speech.
“Same. Thanks, Nora,” I said.
She headed off, and I turned back to my French toast, which was objectively beautiful and deserved my full attention, and yet my BFF was not done.
Adele pointed her fork at me. “I invoke clause number five-twenty-nine of our friendship agreement. BFF’s must spill the secrets.”
I heaved a heavy sigh. “There’s nothing to?—”
“You texted me in complete sentences.”
I paused with my fork halfway to my mouth. A drop of maple syrup dripped off the edge and landed on the table. I set the utensil down on my plate. “What?”
Adele nodded at me slowly, like a woman who had all the evidence she needed. “When you’re having a good day, you answer in one word.Good. Cool. Yup. Sometimes just a thumbs-up emoji and nothing else.”
“I do?” I mean, I wasn’t the greatest at getting back to people texting or calling, but I had apatternto my responses?
“Yes. And when you’re pissed, or working through something, you write full sentences.” She paused. “Sometimes paragraphs.”
I stared at her.
Well, damn.
How had I never once realized that about myself? Not once. And now I was going to be self-conscious about it for the rest of my life. Great. That was great. Just fine.
I picked up my fork and dragged a piece of French toast through the syrup deliberately, making sure to catch some whipped cream, and popped the whole thing into my mouth. Chewing bought me an extra four seconds of not answering.
Adele shockingly stayed quiet, which was somehow worse.
“What if I’ve been wrong about him all this time?” I finally blurted out.
