Page 63 of Thirst For Me
It feels all too familiar.
“Also,” Soph says, “who the hell are Power Mom and Hot Mom?”
“It’s obvious.”
“What’s obvious is you’re doing that thing you do where you put labels on people to tuck them into neat little boxes and keep them at a distance. Instead of actually getting to know them. You do it all the time. You did it with me when we met. Remember Retro Rosie?”
“That was a compliment.” I turn and peel the plastic wrap off the sandwich tray and start needlessly rearranging the sandwiches. “You were cool and strong, yet stylish, like Rosie the Riveter.”
“Remember Hottest Bartender in the Universe, who you met recently?”
“It’s just shorthand. In case I forget people’s names.”
“You pretty little liar.”
“Thank you. I think my hair turned out pretty good tonight.” When I glance at her, she’s frowning at me. “Oh. That wasn’t a compliment. I see.”
“You’re looking for reasons to push people away right now.” Sophie cocks her head at me and frowns. “Maybe you’re afraid of getting attached.”
“ToBev?”
“There is literally not one thing wrong with Bev.”
I open my mouth to give her a list, but she pokes me in the ribs. “Ow!”
“You’re standing in her house,” Soph hiss-whispers, “and about to eat her food. Now, act like a grownup!” Then she stuffs a finger sandwichinto my mouthand turns, just in time to smile at Bev, who’s come to see if we need any help.
“No help required!” Soph says. “Just saying what a lovely home you have.”
When Sophie and Bev leave me alone in the kitchen, I take a breath, and it hits me, hard. That I have no real friendships anymore except Soph. And this was true long before Kyle came along.
Because the last ten years of my life, I’ve been working my butt off to support myself in the city, then to make a go of my businessandsupport myself ... and maybe to prove something to myself. That I’m not the failure my mom worried I’d be when I moved to the city alone. That I’m so much more than just the less-successful, less-talented, less-adored of her two daughters.
And so, I’ve made myself unavailable.
It’s a protection mechanism.
And it’s bullshit.
I amripefor a new group of friends.
Or at least some sense of community. A family who won’t choose my stepsister over me, who won’t abandon me at the first sign of conflict—or the first rubber dick they glimpse in my vicinity.
I down the rest of my Rhubarb cider, pick up the tray, and carry it out into the living room, where I hear Trish telling Sophie, “Oh, he’s been like that ever since his nasty, horrible breakup.”
“I thought you weren’t gossiping, Trish,” Hot Mom says.
“Who are we talking about, ladies?” I ask, setting the tray of sandwiches down on the table, determined to make an effort here. I take a finger sandwich and sink onto the couch next to Sophie, who promptly hands me a tall, cold can of Twisted Tree Ginger Spritz cider.
She gives me a look, like,Prepare yourself for this.
Trish says, “Mason Grant.” Her voice drops dramatically. “He was left at the altar.”
“And this is why we come to ladies’ night,” Sophie murmurs in my ear.
Chapter 12
Sierra
