“Don’t do it. Do not finish that sentence.”
“Oh, I’m going to. He kinda has a point. You can’t be on your own, and you have terrible taste in men. Well, in man, because you’ve only been with one, but honestly, how many times has he acted shitty and then roped you back in?” She watches as I think about my answer. “If it’s more than once, it’s too many. God, you should have just picked another guy from the app, gotten revenge by getting naked with him, and been done with it. It would all be out of your system. I told you this Lucky guy could be a gremlin.”
“It doesn’t work like that for me. I don’t do casual sex without getting attached.”
“And you’d know because you’re, oh, so experienced.”
“Is that Ambrose again?”
“No, that was me.”
“It’s getting hard to tell.”
“Well, I didn’t know he knew your sex life.”
“He doesn’t.”
“Well, I feel I need to keep tabs on it. Promise me you won’t drop your underwear tonight if you’re really gonna go?”
“I won’t be doing that.” Dipping my brush back in the paint stripper, I shake off the excess. “God, I can’t believe he’s had a girlfriend this whole time. I feel like an idiot.”
“We’re back on Lucky now, right?”
“Yes.”
“He’s the idiot. You just trust blindly.”
“Yeah, agreed. Anyway, let’s get this started. Shane is picking me up an hour after work, so around six.”
“Great. Plenty of time for you to back out. Oh, and you didn’t tell me what that text message said. Read it again, and maybe you’ll feel enticed to block him, too.”
Three hours into our attempt to clean off the paint, we are still struggling with the letters, but we’ve removed enough black paint from the windows that I’m able to see Ambrose walk through the reading room in clothes that have seen better days. A clear indication that he’s giving in and coming to help. Hopefully, he’ll have better luck with THE SLAUGHTERHOUSEbanner. It’s a painful reminder of my parents’ gruesome end, and it’s testing me to the point that I can’t look at the person who’d caused it when he switches places with us.
In the kitchen, we have a girls’ afternoon, chatting and snacking, which gives Annabelle time to remind me on a deeper level why tonight is a bad idea.
And so, I cancel while scarfing down chunks of chocolate that we’d placed on a small plate to share between us.
The strawberry-flavored chocolate is a neutralizer for my feelings, a small pick-me-up when the sweetness gives me something to smile over.
Shane texts back almost immediately and continues to text throughout the day, each message laced with disappointment that makes me feel guilty.
Still, I don’t cave.
“How’s it looking?” Annabelle asks as Ambrose steps into the room, broad shoulders slumping.
Her phone buzzes a few seconds later.
“Struggling with the words.” Her shoulders slump, too.
The look on his face reflects in the window and the evening beyond, giving his message another meaning.
Another ping and Annabelle reads his text aloud. “I have work tonight. I’ll try again on Saturday or Sunday between shifts.”
Monitoring each of his movements through the reflection in the window, I watch as he scans the room for Bubbles.
Straightening my spine with a false bravado, I turn my head to him, chin lifted high.
“If you’re looking for the dog, she’s in the den, and she’s already been fed.”
