Coffee Cup Confessions - Trish Williford Page 0,9

and celebrates her victory. “OMG, Jake! It’s about damn time!”

Damn it, I really need to stop video-chatting with her when I have something on my mind. “It’s complicated.”

“More complicated than your ex-wife fucking your ex-best friend?”

“Watch your mouth.”

She knows I’m scolding her language and not the situation. It’s no secret that my ex-wife left me for my ex-best friend, someone she had been sleeping with off and on for several years.

“The way we met isn’t ideal, but she’s pretty cool.”

“Who cares how you met? As long as you’re not screwing over a friend … which we both know you aren’t since you have zero friends. You need to get over your trust issues.”

“Remember what you just said? Ex-wife fucking my ex-best friend?” I mock her.

“Watch your mouth,” she mocks back.

“Anyway, I’m not sure if I’m ready to date.”

“It’s been three years,” she says, deadpan.

“And we’re switching topics. When is spring break? Are you planning on coming home?”

“Why? So you can make sure your new lady friend doesn’t come over while I’m home? Don’t want me to cramp your style? Don’t worry; I’m planning on staying here and getting a head start on my end-of-the-year project.”

She’s teasing, but I want to make sure she understands that no matter what, my home is her home.

“It doesn’t matter if I meet someone, remarry, and have ten kids; this is still your home too.”

“I know,” she answers quickly. “And when I come back for summer, I’m redecorating my bedroom. There’s so many ideas I have running through my head.”

With an exaggerated sigh, I roll my eyes. “Great.”

She laughs, and it’s the same giggle she’s had since she was a toddler. “You’ll love it. Besides, I’ll do all the hard work; you just have to pay for it.”

“Fine.”

“Wow, that was easier than I thought. Before you change your mind, I’m gonna run. My roommates and I are going to a new club in Manhattan tonight.”

And the overprotective side comes out of me. “Whoa … how are you getting into this club? You’re only twenty.”

She gives me a big grin. “Keep your hair on, old man. I have a fake ID. I’ll be fine. Bye!”

She disconnects the video chat, and I stare at the black screen of my phone.

A dull thumping begins in my temples. “She’s so lucky she’s four hours away right now.”

A text from Carrisa lights up the screen.

Carrisa: Don’t act like you were innocent in college. I’ve heard stories. I’ll be careful. Love you. XOXOX

5

Misha

Drew and I have been best friends since high school. We were both outcasts—him as the only openly gay male at our school and me as Mandy’s dorky little sister. He and I weathered the high-school storm and came out stronger on the other side, and since then, we have been inseparable. No matter what happens, he’s there without question. If I needed to bury a body at three in the morning, Drew would be on my doorstep with a shovel, ready to dig. He’s my person, and I’m his.

Drew insisted on driving us to my parents’ house for dinner, so I could hear the new speakers he had installed in his car this week. Although he loves Charlie, his 1989 Ford Escort, it belongs in a junkyard. I nicknamed it the Green Turd because it really is a piece of crap. That car is not only old as dirt, but it’s also a death trap. Once you hit forty miles per hour, the needle on the speedometer spazzes out, moving rapidly between your actual speed and full throttle. The faded tan fabric on the roof sags down and touches his head.

I begged him to let me staple it to the roof, but he said, “It gives Charlie character.”

The driver’s seat is stuck in a permanent setting, not allowing Drew to adjust it according to his height, so his knees are crammed under the dashboard. God help him if he is ever in an accident; he would no longer have legs. I’m sure he hasn’t taken this car in for an emissions test in years; otherwise, it would be scrap metal right about now. The Green Turd is proof of his less than stellar driving. He has “bumped” his car into everything from telephone poles to cows. Thankfully, no telephone poles or cows are harmed or injured during today’s drive to the Gallagher household.

“You obviously can afford a new car. Why are you still driving Charlie?” I ask when we pull into my parents’ development.

“Charlie was the first car