Page 1 of Under the Weatherman
Chapter One
Elizabeth
“We know what we are, but know not what we may be.”
Hamlet
Being friends with Chelsea Abbott had landed me in some outlandish predicaments. Tonight, though, she’d promised it would be just the two of us, enjoying the total freedom of a man-free Friday night together. No flirting. No cruising. Absolutely no shenanigans.
I should have remembered Chelsea’s plans were like God’s: written in invisible ink.
It’s not that I didn’t want to meet someone—eventually, but I wasn’t into shallow hookups, and from my experience, that was the only thing on tap on the terrace of Charlottesville’s Skybar.
After a couple of beers, I’d relaxed enough to pontificate freely about a book on Foucault I was editing. “…and that’s why discourse both wields power and undermines it.” Chelsea’s eyes closed, but I went on. “Rousseau wrote, ‘There are always four sides to a story: your side, their side, the truth, and what really happened.’”
Her head rolled back—pointedly.Oh, my God.
“Chelsea, are you awake?”
“Just slipping into a coma, E.” Rude. “What? Not everyone’s as passionate as you about post-structuralism.” One eye popped open, and she reached for her beer, swallowing the remains in one toss. With a glance at a passing frat boy, she stood. “Come on. Let’s mingle.”
Groan. “I don’t think so, Chelsea. I’ve told you. This isn’t the way I like to meet guys.” I was more content hiding in the safety of books.
I crossed my arms, ready to whine about our girls’ night out, but she just shot me a smirk. “I challenge you to check something off the list.”
Shit. Her list was a loaded weapon. “Are you serious right now?”
She mussed her vixen shoulder-length black waves and flaunted her cleavage. “What? It’ll be fun.”
This is how I ended up in such a mess.
Chelsea had a checklist, and therefore, as her co-pilot,Ihad a checklist. It was her therapist’s idea to help her stop running away, drinking, banging randos, or whatever avoidance techniques she’d honed like bullet time in theMatrix. I am agoodfriend, so I’d gone all in to create actionable experiences, ranging from benign to full-on ridiculous, and, hoping to gamify the list, I’d made the fatal suggestion to award points for every checkmark.
The prize at stake: more points, better vacation destinations.
The punishment for failure: emotional blackmail. I held a scorching letter Chelsea wrote to her shit-heel of a deadbeat dad. She had a draft of my first novel and the email address of my dream agent. Refuse a challenge: those puppies would get sent.
How was I to know she’d fuck around onmypotential love life?
Because she’s Chelsea, that’s why. My bad.
The truth was, without her pushing me to get out of my shell, I’d probably never approach guys. I worked part time at a bar and watched guys operate right under my nose. Having seen their every move on other women—even with a wink to me as a complicit observer—I usually never went to a bar to pick up men. That was Chelsea’s domain.
My own personal checklist comprised a single decree:stand up for yourself.I should’ve started right away by telling Chelsea to leave me out of her machinations.
But she already had the list open on her phone, and before I could protest, she grinned mischievously. “I’ve got it. Here.”
The text she pointed to read:Have a 100% bullshit conversation with a total stranger.
“Oh, God.” Lying. To a real person. I knew her well enough to recognize a clumsy attempt to get me to break the ice with anyone at all. Still, my stomach curdled. “That’s impossible, Chelsea.”
She grimaced. “Oh, likehave a deep, authentic conversation with a total strangeris so easy.”
I rolled my eyes. I’d added that one to the list, hoping she might open herself up to someone other than me—or her therapist. “It might be, if you didn’t wall yourself off from any vulnerability, pretending like you’re some heartless robot.”
She held a hand over her heart. “Shots fired.”
Chelsea could play innocent all she wanted, but unlike me, she was all in for both the hit and the quit, and she avoided romantic entanglements like I avoided STDs. And that gave me an idea to fuck with her right back. I emptied my beer for a little more liquid courage and tapped the line she’d just alluded to. “Okay, but then Iamgoing to dare you to have a deep, authentic conversation with someone.”
