She makes it sound like that’s a perfectly normal thing to do.
“No, no,” I argue weakly. “It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” If I say it enough, it’ll have to be true, right?
She huffs out a laugh of disbelief then points at me with a short, manicured nail. “Keep on believing that, Abs. Good girl.”
She shoves me inside the apartment, taking my suitcase from me. It disappears, and I can’t care to see if she puts it in my bedroom or the bathroom or . . . hell, the kitchen, for all I know. As long as she’s not destroying more walls, it’s probably for the best that she manages it instead of me.
Archie and Courtney are poised in the living room, cards in front of them, pennies in one hand and wine glasses in the other.
“Let’s go, girl! I have faith that I’ve got the winning card!” Archie says with a jerk of his chin toward the glitter-accented paper in front of him.
Glitter is the herpes of crafting materials. Once you’ve got it, there’s no un-getting it. My apartment’s done for. It’ll be perpetually covered in gold glitter for the rest of the time I live here no matter how many times I vacuum. I should move out now and forfeit my security deposit.
I flop to the couch, half falling on Courtney who lets out a whoop of surprise and almost spills her filled-to-the-brim wineglass, which would be a double tragedy because she’s wearing cute jeans and sitting on my white couch. “Hey! Watch it!”
I steal her wine glass, upend it, and chug it down in one go like I’m a sorority girl with a curfew and a crush on the quarterback of the football team. I hold it up, barely a spot of red in the bottom. “Again.”
Courtney and Archie meet eyes over my head, worry and shock in both, I imagine. Violet swoops in from wherever she took my suitcase.
“One more, and then you’re cut off,” Violet declares as she grabs my glass, refills it, and then gives it back. I look at her wryly as she gets Courtney a fresh glass too.
“Okay, hit us with it,” Courtney demands, “so we know what we’re dealing with.” She’s a planner, always has been and always will be. By the time I get this story out, she’ll have it analyzed from every angle, thought of at least three different ways to handle it, mentally argued the pros and cons of each with herself, and then . . . she’ll tell me what I need to do. Usually, it drives me nuts. Right now, I would love for someone to tell me what the fuck just happened and why I feel like I left something vital in Aruba.
Like a foot. Or a hand. Or . . . my heart?
“Dream gig in paradise, you know that part. But the wedding planner was a total pain in the ass. Nothing was good enough and she kept calling me ‘flower girl’ and ‘Miss Andrews’.” I imitate Meredith’s snooty manner.
Courtney’s brows raise when she hears the tone, probably having gotten enough of that in her own life. Violet, being Violet, spits out, “Bitch.”
“Yeah. But despite her, the wedding was beautiful and the flowers were some of the best work I’ve ever done, which says something considering we lost all our flowers early in the week when the cooler broke.”
“The cooler broke?” Archie says in horror. “What about the flowers?”
I shake my head sadly. “Casualties of war.”
He tracks a finger down his cheek from his eye, mimicking a tear.
“Yeah, but the resort got it fixed and we got flower replacements from every resort and flower shop on the island, and we even had a boat bring us some special ones. It was stressful and not what Janey and I had spent months planning, but the arrangements were gorgeous in the end, and that’s what matters.” I lift my wine glass in a silent toast and then drink again. This time, truly a sip, at least.
Violet leans forward and tilts the glass up, spilling another healthy swallow into my mouth. “You’re gonna need it.”
I choke a bit at the unexpected mouthful and Archie laughs. “Girl, you are too old to be gagging like that. Get it together.”
I sputter, but he’s moved on to his glitter-infested bingo card. “Ooh, I’m one away from a bingo! Look! I’ve got paradise, dream, flower, and bitch.”
His excitement instantly changes as he hums and shakes his head sadly, “Does it count