Page 18 of A Shade of Myself
“No, thanks. After all the fresh air of the Grind, I’m craving a salad.” Potato salad. Pasta salad. Chocolate shaped like salad.
Laurent’s eyebrows drew together. “You eat salad?”
“Jesus!” Cam elbowed him hard.
“Only when I run out of bacon grease to spoon directly into my mouth.” Using my hands, I wrenched myself out of the stupid lunge, more relieved to be standing upright than I had been to finish the Grind.
Cam shook her head. “Sorry, Miriam. He has no tact.”
I stretched my arms over my head, the stitch in my side having spread to include my entire chest, making it tough to get a proper breath. “I wouldn’t know. We’re just sort of work colleagues.”
A muscle ticked in Laurent’s cheek and my smile broadened, though my happy rush quickly faded as I kicked off a clump of dirt stuck to my dingy white sports sock. My shirt was soaked with sweat stains, I was filthy, my hair was a damp mess, and hunger and humiliation were about to make me extremely bitchy. Exit, stage left even. Now.
“Thanks for helping out,” I said, “but I’ve got to run. Nice meeting you, Cam.”
“You too.”
I really wanted to dislike her, but she was so damn cheerful. And it wasn’t her fault that Laurent had given me the best orgasm I’d had in years and then reappeared with a younger woman in tow. Maybe she really was just here because Tatiana had requested her help.
Right. And maybe I craved a salad.
Laurent untangled himself from his friend. “Cam is taking me back to Paris to get my things, but I’m coming home tomorrow.”
“I’m surprised you lasted as long as you did with Jacques there,” Cam said through a mouthful of fries. “You’re a softie where Leila’s concerned.”
I liked a woman who didn’t let small things like talking distract from her enjoyment of fried foods. However, I liked her first-name basis with Laurent’s parents somewhat less. “Don’t let me keep you from your plans.”
Laurent shrugged into his T-shirt. “Mitzi.”
I gave them a firm wave. “Bye.”
While my stride was relaxed, my jaw was tight enough to shatter teeth. Whether or not Laurent and Cam were more than friends, it didn’t change the fact that he shouldn’t have ghosted me. Or dumped an introduction with his gorgeous younger friend on me at this particular moment.
My indignation grew while I nursed a Pilsner and devoured a plate of onion rings. I couldn’t even sit on the patio with the other patrons to enjoy the fresh air and people-watch because the way my luck was going, I’d spy the two people I didn’t want to watch.
I nursed my wounds seated in a dark corner of the pub, checking in with Ava about Jude, and then sending my best friend a quick text to let her know I’d really made it to the top and was going home.
Because that’s what friends did, I mused, having a long and necessary pee while waiting for Jude to reply. They communicated with each other, even if one of the parties was going to make her friend’s head explode if she didn’t quit with all the avoidance.
She finally sent a thumbs-up emoji. I refrained from sending a few emojis of my own, realizing that my mood right now wasn’t really because of Jude.
It was about my other useless friend, flaunting this personal life he’d never once mentioned in my face.
I fumed all the way down the gondola ride, wedged into a corner by cutesy couples taking selfies, and drove home white-knuckling the steering wheel.
Sadie was eating her after-work snack of cereal when I entered the kitchen. She hadn’t yet changed out of the brightly colored T-shirt with the camp logo where she was a junior theater counselor. “You’re filthy. Tatiana got you burying bodies now?”
“Don’t give her ideas.” I grabbed a jar of Nutella out of the cupboard, got a spoon, and dug in. “I did the Grind.”
My child grimaced. “Gross. Why?”
I waved the spoon at her, speaking through a mouthful of gooey chocolate. “Right? Thank you. The one sane person in the wild dybbuk chase I’ve been on all day. Tatiana had me track down a thin spot where dybbuks were getting out and I’ve been surrounded by happy exercise people.”
“Yikes.” She drained the milk in the bowl and took it to the sink. “Do you have to close the mountain or something?”
“No,” I said with lethal pleasantness. “Laurent fixed it.” I shoved another spoonful in. Take that, charity potatoes.
The bowl clattered loudly into the basin. “I thought he was in France.”
