Pedicure/Wax (move to Thursday’s list and add manicure)
Buy new umbrella
Colby @ Hole in the Wall Mexican, 5:30 p.m.
Seven
Colby sat perched at a high-top table behind two blue glasses the size of fishbowls filled to the brim with freshly shaken margaritas. Kenny wasn’t sure if the condensation dripping down the side of the glass was because the liquid was overflowing, or the glass was sweating due to the sweltering temperature inside the Mexican joint. The rainstorms that lingered earlier in the day finally passed through and allowed the sun to shine over the city again, but the thick air that accompanied it was suffocating.
Neither Kenny nor Colby knew the name of the Mexican place. They weren’t sure it even had one, like the many other ethnic establishments they frequented in Hell’s Kitchen. The restaurants that dotted the West Side neighborhood weren’t known for their ambiance, prestige, size, or popularity. They were known for their authentic cuisine and cheap drinks. A double win for anyone who didn’t know their way around a kitchen, had a curious palate, and was living paycheck to paycheck. Kenny and Colby affectionately named their favorite haunts Hole in the WallInsert Cuisine. Hole in the Wall Mexican was their favorite, but they also enjoyed Hole in the Wall Japanese, Chinese, Thai, Indian, Italian, Brazilian, Greek, and Ethiopian. They visited Hole in the Wall Vegan once, but decided they were too carnivorous for the plant-based menu.
Colby jumped off his stool and wrapped Kenny in a bear hug, giving her pecks on both cheeks.
“You look great, Kenny,” he exclaimed as he took a step back, tightly clenched both of her shoulders, and scanned her up and down.
She giggled, swatted his hands down, and rolled her eyes.
“I mean it! Your skin looks flawless. I’m loving this boho chic look you’re sporting, and it looks like you lost some of those pesky hormone pounds you packed on,” he continued, waving his hands in tiny circles in front of her midsection.
“I spent an hour in the shower sloughing and moisturizing, head to toe, so I should look like the next Cover Girl. As for the boho look I’m ‘sporting,’ it’s a vain attempt to mask those poundsandmy toes that are in desperate need of a pedicure,” she countered using air quotes and looking in disgust at her flowy floral tunic and tan canvas mules.
“I think you look fabulous, diva. Learn to take the compliment. Maybe some time out of your pencil skirts, A-line dresses, and pumps will do you good. Cheers to my bestie,” Colby toasted, raising his glass.
Kenny sipped her margarita while he ordered a second with a floater, and guacamole and chips to split. After the rollercoaster of emotions that she rode all day, she finally found herself sitting upright and at the top of the incline again.
“Since Fire Island and my planned shenanigans for post Hole in the Wall Mexican are off the table, let’s talk aboutyourlove life,” he squealed as he winked and pointed both index fingers in her direction.
“Oh my god, Colby, we arenotgoing there right now. I’m on all the apps and every man in the tristate area is a total freak. And if they’re not a freak, they’re gay, married, or a serial killer. And look what happened this morning. I don’t even have time to go to an hour-long yoga class without the world crashing down around me. Forget about starting a relationship.”
“You are even more dramatic than me, Kennedy Sloane,” he interjected. “You’ve only had two quasi-relationships since you broke things off with George and that was three and a half years ago. People these days get married, divorced, and remarried in that span of time. What about the hedge fund guy? The one you said you had a schoolgirl crush on. The two of you laughed until you cried and made out in the back of cabs, movie theaters, and crowded elevators. You seemed to like him.”
“I don’t know, I guess things just fizzled after I was sent on that assignment to Little Rock for a few weeks.” Kenny shrugged.
“How about the actor-model-trainer guy? The one that whisked you away to Breckenridge for a romantic weekend. You said après-ski had a whole new meaning after that trip and the chemistry between you two was steamier than the hot tub that was nestled in the side of the ski slope—or something corny like that. What happened to him?”
“I lost his number when I misplaced my phone at the Charlotte airport. Verizon couldn’t retrieve my contacts,” she defensively answered.
“You lost his number,” Colby interjected. “You really think that’s going to work on me? The research department at WBS can pull a number for any person who’s everowneda phone. I bet they could track down Alexander Graham Bell’s original phone number. What you meant to say is that you stopped returning Mr. Après Ski’s calls and texts, and he gave up on you.”
“Fine, okay!” she shouted and threw her hands up like she had gotten caught committing armed robbery. “Guilty. I dropped the ball on both of those nice guys. It’s just that . . . it’s just that George really did a number on me. It’s easier to drown myself in work, a world that I can control. Or thought I could, until this morning.”
“Enough of this, Kenny,” Colby said in a sincere tone. “I’m worried about you. It’s been over a year since you’ve been on a date; work consumes every fiber of your being; and if I ask you to go below Fourteenth Street, you act like you need a passport. We’re getting you out of your drought and, for God sakes, out of the bubble of the Upper West Side.”
He waved his hand to the bartender. “We’ll have another round,hombre! One with a floater.” Then he fixed his gaze back to Kenny. “I’m using the restroom and when I come back, we’re making a roadmap for your life. We’re even going to pick out a hot little two-seater convertible so you can see yourself driving around on it.”
She sheepishly grinned, nodded in agreement and blew a kiss in Colby’s direction as he strutted victoriously toward the sign that read “El Baño” like he just won a bullfight.
While her best friend made his exaggerated and detoured trek around the bar to the bathroom, Kenny’s phone pinged. She glanced at the screen and then swiftly to the bartender.
“Yo voy,” she mouthed while darting to the door.
Eight
Kenny forlornly lay curled up in the fetal position at the bottom of her bed. Her eyes were puffy and red, and smudgy streams of jet-black mascara ran down her cheeks.
“I can’t believe he lied to me,” she sobbed into her pillow.
Every few minutes Kenny regained her composure long enough to inflict more torture and reread the email that pinged her phone when Colby stepped away from the table.
