The Mix-Up (Southern Hearts Club #3) - Melanie Munton Page 0,89
out your feelings. That way, the unpleasant ones won’t be so debilitating.
“All right, you asked for it,” Sloane says, standing up. “The time has come. Prepare for the hammer.”
I look at her quizzically. “What hammer?”
“I’m going to say it.”
“Say what?”
“You ready?”
“I don’t get what’s happening right now.”
She takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Gretchen Castellanos, you are being a total and complete dingbat.”
All the air is sucked out of the room from the simultaneous gasps.
“She said the “d” word,” Harper whispers to Quinn out of the side of her mouth.
I gape at Sloane.
That word is basically my kill switch.
The four of us made a pact back in college—with the help of one or ten tequila shooters—that they would call to my attention the moment I start to self-destruct. Because I knew it was bound to happen sooner or later. And I determined that I was probably going to need some help pulling my head out of my own ass.
So, we made a deal.
And thanks to our friendly neighborhood tequila, “dingbat” was the safe word we decided on. They swore to only use it in the direst of circumstances—when I refused to see reason and was on the verge of ruining my life beyond repair.
None of them have ever used it before.
This is no bueno.
“You’ve got to start letting people in, Gretch, or you’re going to push everyone away to the point that they won’t come back,” Sloane implores. “Until the day the robots rise up and transplant one of their hearts into you, you’re going to feel stuff. And yeah, some of that stuff is going to hurt, but a lot of it is going to be the most amazing stuff you’ve ever felt. That’s what makes us better than the robots.”
“The moment you become numb to all of it is the moment your love will fade away,” Harper adds. “And it may not feel like it now, but feeling pain is better than feeling nothing at all.”
I swallow around the growing lump in my throat.
“You can’t write the ending of a relationship before you even begin it,” Quinn tosses out, pushing off the wall. “And anyway, what is all of this scaredy-cat business about? You’re fearless fucking Gretchen. You don’t run away from anything, especially a man. You make this thing with Ryder work because you want it to. And you never let anything stand in the way of what you want. Right?”
I nod woodenly. “Right.”
“What was that?”
“Right,” I answer a little louder.
“I can’t hear you!” she yells.
“Are you trying to drill sergeant me?”
Quinn winces. “I took a shot. Thought it might work.”
“So, what’s it going to be, Gretch?” Sloane asks. “You going to continue acting like an idiot and throw away the best thing in your life? Or are you going to live up to your name and take a butcher knife to all that bullshit in your head?”
I glance down at the pinkish water I’m submerged in. “I think the Countess is getting all pruney.”
All three of them sigh with impatience. “I could have done without that image.”
“P.S., I’m thinking maybe I should stop referring to my vagina by name.”
“Agreed,” they all say in unison.
“Nah, just kidding.”
With spirits buoyed and plans forming, I grab both sides of the tub and haul myself to my feet. Nothing is left to the imagination when I throw my arms up in victory. “All hail, the honorable Countess of Charleston!”
“Ahh, no, why?!”
“Oh, God, my eyes!”
“Holy shit. You’re like a baby seal. Do you have any hair below your head?”
I give them a little booby shimmy. “And that’s what you buttwads get for interrupting my bath.”
Mic. Drop.
“Happy birthday, Mom.” I kiss her on the cheek as I hand her my gift.
She smiles brightly as she rips off the paper covering the air fryer she’s been ceaselessly asking for. I purposely didn’t give it to her for Christmas because I wanted to trick her and I’m evil like that.
“Thank you, sweetie.” She claps enthusiastically. “I can’t wait to use it.”
It’s just our family at my parents’ house to celebrate the occasion, with the notable addition of one particular person.
“I use my air fryer all the time,” Lydia, Ross’s new girlfriend, says. “It’s a blessing and a curse because you’ll only want to eat fried foods from now on.”
This is the first time any of us have met the very pretty commercial real estate broker. Which means, it’s The Inquisition in the Castellanos household.