Page 83 of Hot Mess
I pretended to weigh that in my mind. “I’ve had worse.”
“Really?”
“Well, the other girl didn’t give me an antique ring.” Now I was just messing with her, but at least she knew it. She visibly relaxed, a bit.
“The ring has no value to me, Ashley. Seriously. But it’s an antique, it’s beautiful, and I hate that it’s just sitting in a drawer. You’re the only person I know who could pull off wearing it. It would look great on you.”
I stared at her. I could feel the sincerity in her words. It really, truly bugged her that the ring didn’t have a home.
“Do you love your interior decorating job as much as you love jewelry?”
Now she looked uncomfortable again. She glanced around, like she was looking for the waiter.
“Thirsty?”
“Well, it’s hard not to be completely honest with you when I’m so sober,” she admitted. “But this is the part where I slightly need to lie to you to tell you that interior decorating is my passion.”
“It’s not?”
“I love my job. I love the firm and I love working with my aunt and my cousin, Jolie… You met her, at the front desk? I love helping people and I love transforming my clients’ homes. I enjoy it, a lot. But it’s not my passion.” She searched my face. “Is music your passion?”
“What’s your passion, then? Jewelry?”
She smiled softly. “Is this an interrogation? You’ve been peppering me with questions since I sat down.”
“My prerogative. I haven’t hired you yet, right?”
Her smile faltered. “Right. About that—”
“What’s your passion?” I repeated.
“Honestly… I don’t know if I’ve found it yet.”
“Then you haven’t.”
She sipped her water. “Have you found yours?”
“Music. For sure.”
She studied me. “When did you know?”
“When I was thirteen. One of my friends got a guitar for his birthday. He started teaching me what he’d learn in his lessons, and I’d play guitar whenever I was at his house, trying to teach myself songs from his tabs. ‘Smoke on the Water,’ ‘Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door,’ all the stuff you learn to play at first. Then I heard Jerry Cantrell for the first time. ‘We Die Young.’ First Alice in Chains song I ever heard. His guitar, Layne Staley’s voice… the harmony of their voices. Their lyrics… I always had a decent singing voice, but I had no idea what to do with it. I couldn’t afford lessons. I spent the summer trying to learn that song, trying to be as good as those guys. Didn’t happen, but I saved up for a year to get my own guitar and a little amp. Never looked back.”
Danica was smiling softly as she listened to all that. “Your grunge phase?”
“Had a grunge phase, a punk phase, a just-about-everything-else phase.” But now we were talking about me, and I wanted to talk about her. I passed her the liquor menu. “Let’s get a drink.”
“What are you having?” she asked, scanning the menu.
“Gulden Draak. It’s a dark Belgian beer.”
“I’m more of a light and crisp girl myself,” she said. Another small smile.
“Like a lager?”
“Like a cider.” She shut the menu. The waiter was just walking up and she told him, “I’ll have a Strongbow, please. He’ll have a… Golden what?”
“Gulden Draak,” I said.
