“This,” I said, waving a hand at her. “He makes you happier than I’ve ever seen. It’s like you’re a different person. He looks at you like you invented whipped cream. Now this. I don’t understand.”
She shrugged. “Whirlwind romance. Easy come, easy go.”
My mouth opened to call bullshit, but I couldn’t. I knew Anne too well. We stared at each other for a long moment until the luxury car started rolling forward. The past seven years had bound us tightly together. Tighter than either of us might have liked, truth be told. Love and hope equaled pain. They fucked you over and left you high and dry.
Stupid to believe otherwise. Those were our home truths and we’d learned them the hard way when Dad up and left. Love sucked, and men … well, it seemed they were as dependable as they’d ever been.
Still, I couldn’t get the memory of Ben out of my head. The way his dark brown eyes had fixed on mine and never wavered. In all honesty, it could have meant anything.
Nothing, or everything, or something in between.
I just didn’t know.
* * *
“I do not need him,” Anne announced from atop the coffee table, her chocolate martini held high in the air.
A round of applause from Lauren.
“I really don’t!”
“Right on, sister. Amen.”
“In fact, I don’t need any man! I’m a … I’m a…” She clicked her fingers impatiently, face deep in thought. “What’s the word I’m looking for?”
“You’re a modern woman.”
“Yes-s-s,” my sister hissed. “Thank you. I’m a modern woman. And penises are just weird anyway. I mean seriously, who the fuck even thought that shit up?”
On the floor, Lauren started laughing so hard she had to clutch at her belly. Me, not so much. Why Anne couldn’t give her speeches with her feet safely on the floor was beyond me.
“No, really. Think about it. They’re fine when they’re hard, but when they’re soft…” With a faint frown, my sister crooked her pinkie finger and then wiggled it. “So wrinkly and weird looking. Vaginas make much more sense.”
“Oh god.” I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment.
We’d finally arrived at my sister’s apartment late afternoon, due to Ev needing to make a couple of stops. First there was a liquor store. Next, Voodoo Doughnuts. And last but not least, a pizza shop in the Pearl. The big burly security guy driving us had taken it all in his stride. He’d lugged the myriad bags, boxes, and bottles required up the stairs into Anne’s small two bedroom apartment. When it came to throwing an impromptu man-hate party, Evelyn Ferris clearly had all bases covered.
My rage toward the drummer in question, Malcolm Ericson, had dropped from boiling to a simmer. The precarious way Anne was swaying atop her high perch worried me more. “Please don’t fall off the coffee table and break something.”
“Ohmyfuckinggod.” Dark liquid sloshed over the edge of her glass, splattering onto the scuffed wooden floor below, only narrowly missing a red-faced Lauren. “Stop being such an adult, Lizzy. I’m the older sister here. You’re the kid. Act like it.”
I opened my mouth to tell her what I thought of that bright idea, but a hand swiftly covered my lips.
“Do not engage,” Ev whispered in my ear, her arm draped over my shoulders and palm still silencing me. “She is drunk off her ever-loving ass and arguing with her will get you nowhere.”
The hand withdrew, though the arm remained.
“That’s what I’m worried about,” I said.
It probably should have felt weird, being so friendly with her on Anne’s impressively soft new velvet love seat. I’d only just met Ev. There was something about her, though. Her and Lauren both (I’d met Lauren once before, briefly). You had to appreciate women who exuded an air of no nonsense. Whatever happened with dickhead Mal, I hoped they stuck with Anne. She needed real friends, not the money-, time-, and energy-sucking leeches she’d attracted over the years with her momma bear ways.
“Tell me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think your sister lets herself blow off steam very often. She might just need this.”
I frowned. “Perhaps.”
Up on the table, Anne hummed along with the music playing softly over the stereo. Lost in her own little world. At least the sad face was gone. I’d seen enough of it to last me a lifetime. Just the same, I made a mental note to beat Mal Ericson bloody if I ever saw him again. About the billionth thought of its type for the day.
“Did you enjoy seeing them practice before it all went south?” asked Ev.
“Yeah. I really did.” I gave the woman discreet side eyes. “The bass player … what was his name?”
“Ben?”
“Hmm.” I nodded, feeling my way through the conversation ever so carefully. “He seemed interesting. Pity we didn’t get to head out for a meal.”
“It was a pity. Couldn’t help but notice you noticing him at practice,” said Ev, ending any charade of subtlety.
Awesome.
“Relax. I’m not going to say anything to your sister.” The woman sighed. “Ben, Ben, Ben. How to describe him? He’s a great guy, very laid back.”
I said nothing.
“Be warned, though, he’s not known for actually dating.”
I gave her side eyes.
She gave me a small grin. “Of course, neither was David until we got married. Anyhoo … Ben. How serious are you about him?”
“Are you asking about my intentions?”
A startled laugh flew out of her. “Huh. Yeah, I guess I am. I’ve got a man now, so I have to meddle and play matchmaker. Apparently it’s what women do. But seriously, it’s not him getting hurt that I’m necessarily worried about.”
“You going to tell me I’m too young for him?”
“That would be hypocritical of me, considering I got hitched at twenty-one. And you’re what?”
“Nearly twenty-one.” I shifted in my seat.
“Well he’s nearly twenty-nine, just so you know.”
Eight years. Not so bad.
I stared into the murky dregs of my second martini as if somewhere in the muck lay a clue. You need tea leaves, though, to tell the future. Vodka, cream, and chocolate liqueur didn’t quite cut it. “I probably won’t get to see him again anyway, so…”
“You give up that easy?” she asked. “The way you were looking at him, I thought you were more determined than that.”