I had made it… until I realized that the comfortable bed I was sleeping on was filled with nothing more than vapor and lies.
I pull up my big girl panties and open the door to the bar. Stepping inside, I expect maybe a bit of change. Instead, it’s like I’ve taken a time machine back to 2003. It even smells the same, like stale beer, cigarettes, and worn oiled leather.
I scan the ‘ladies’ night’ crowd and see Jenny talking to a man who clearly has had too much to drink. She’s trying to be polite. I hurry toward her knowing she can’t continue to do so; it’s not in her to hold back for long.
She sees me and jumps into my arms, her relief at finally having me here apparent. “Let’s go.” I barely spare the drunkard an ounce of attention as we walk away, arm in arm, to the end of the bar. We take two high-top seats beside each other and sigh our relief.
“So glad you came! How are y—” She stops mid-sentence, her face crumpling with pity.
Am I so obvious? And why is it that the moment someone I love speaks to me, I can no longer keep a front? I swallow hard.
She shakes her head, rubbing my shoulder. “No. Please, don’t be sad. I know life sucks right now. It will get better.”
I groan, putting my head in my hands and mumbling, “Fuck Instagram. And fuck my life.”
“You need a sticker on the back of your phone that says: Social Media is Bad for my Mental Health. Seriously,” she scoots herself and her stool forward, “it could help you. One of boy number two’s friends has that same sticker.” She smiles at me, and I wish I could smile back in earnest. Instead, I finally take off my coat, hanging it over the back of the stool, and placing my purse beside it, hoping it’s not too sticky.
Jenny is a typical Holiday Springs citizen. Born and raised here, just like me. She spent four years at Binghamton University for college before returning home and marrying Bobby Baker, quarterback of our graduating classes champion football team and Jenny’s very own high school sweetheart. With two kids and a full-time job running the local flower shop, she’s always busy, but never too busy for me.
Pulling out her phone, she shows me the sticker on Amazon. “See? Only $5.99.”
“Maybe I should.” I glance at my purse, wondering if Townes or any of his friends have posted anything new since I last checked. I grab my phone and quickly check it out. Their nights never seem to end. There is always a dinner, a party, and then an afterparty. Hours later, cocktails at brunch. Suddenly, the sticker is looking quite necessary.
Jenny grabs the phone from my hands. “Are you in the mood to obsess and rant and then receive my unsolicited opinion and advice? Or are you ready to say, fuck that shit, it’s time to move on? Because frankly, I wouldn’t mind telling you how much I’ve always hated him and his world for you.”
I pry my eyes away from my phone and look at her. “Maybe just for a minute…”
“Good.” She snags my cell and plops it on the bar in front of me before turning fully in her barstool and looking me dead in the eyes. “Let’s take a walk down memory lane, shall we? Nothing like remembering the bad times to remind you how lucky you are to be out of that situation. Frankly, you could use a kick in the keister to get you going in the right direction.”
“Well, it wasn’t all that bad.”
She looks at me pointedly, and suddenly I feel defensive.
“We had good—”
Rolling her eyes, she cuts me off. “How about the time you called me from the bathroom at the Plaza Hotel, crying, because his mother brought another woman to the fundraiser for him to meet. And instead of politely walking away, he spoke to her for the entire night just to pacify his mom? Or last Christmas, how he didn’t think his family would like the thoughtful gifts you made, so he had his secretary buy them all more appropriate gifts, like six-hundred-dollar monogrammed cashmere sweaters?”
I press my lips together, feeling outraged but also stupid. Stupid that I put him and his lifestyle on a proverbial pedestal for so long.
“Oh!” She pauses, smiling like she’s enjoying this. “How about the time you overheard him on the phone, telling his mother not