“I don’t know about indestructible.” Scarlett laughs, stirring the olives in her drink.
Penelope takes a long swig of her vodka soda before she says, “Yeah, speaking for myself, I’m not indestructible, just lonely.”
“Girl, you’ve got us. Single women are the pioneers of the future,” Scarlett says, raising her glass.
Penelope giggles, and I watch their glasses touch with a soft clink, uncertain if I should participate or not.
Am I single right now? Or are Hayes and I a thing? The question sparks a familiar tingle in my core.
Before I know it, both of them are staring at me. One of Scarlett’s eyebrows is angled sharply in skepticism, while Penelope looks on with innocent interest.
“Unless some bitch here isn’t single anymore . . .”
“Maren, are you seeing someone?”
My mouth goes dry, so I sip my wine and collect my thoughts. Before I can respond—what can I even say?—Scarlett gasps.
“Oh my God. Please tell me it’s not Hayes.”
I freeze, and it feels like my blood is rushing backward. “Um, no. Not Hayes.” I scoff, staring into my wineglass, hating that I have to lie.
When Scarlett sighs in relief, I’m a little disgusted with myself.
“Oh, thank God. I was gonna say, Wolfie would kill him. He’d kill both of you.”
Penelope laughs nervously while I frantically search for the waiter. My glass is nearly empty, and I’m tempted to just ask him to leave me the whole bottle.
“Sorry, girl.” Scarlett chuckles, waving one hand as if to shoo the thought away. “I don’t even know why I thought that. There is no universe in which Hayes would commit, not even to a catch like you. He’s just shortsighted like that, I guess. A lovable jackass, am I right?”
“Totally.” I choke out the word, my throat tight with emotion. Leave it to Scarlett to shine the glaring light of reality onto my stupid, twisted fantasies.
Penelope must be very perceptive, because she jumps in, saving me and the moment. “So if it’s not Hayes, then who are you seeing, Maren?”
“Oh,” I say, trying to keep my quavering voice steady. “Just a guy I met through a work friend. We grabbed coffee a few times, but I’m pretty sure he’s not interested in me because he wouldn’t put his phone down.”
Wow, who knew I was such a con artist? The lie does the trick, however, because Scarlett slams her drink down with another groan.
“I hate that shit too. Like, give me the goddamn time of day, dude. Dump his ass, Mare. You deserve someone who’s going to prioritize you and only you.”
I smile, raising my glass, my fist curled tightly under the table. “To guys who care.”
“Wherever they may be!” Scarlett says with a snort.
Our glasses raised in solidarity, we all agree without words to down the rest of our drinks. To my surprise, when the waiter comes back not a minute later and asks if we’d like to order more, it’s Penelope who responds.
“Another for us, please!” she says, squeezing Scarlett’s hand. When her eyes meet mine, they’re soft and understanding. “And how about the rest of the bottle for my beautiful friend here?”
Turns out Connor’s little sister is a mind reader.
The car ride home is full of cheerful conversation. At some point, we’re all snickering loudly about some sexual innuendo Scarlett has made about “the back seat,” and somewhere in my wine-brain, I make a mental note to tip our uncomplaining driver generously.
Penelope is dropped off at her apartment in Lakeview first, blowing us kisses from the front stoop of her apartment building. I’m next, just north in uptown. When I open the car door to step out into the cool night air, Scarlett hops out with me, asking the driver to wait for “a hot second.”
She wraps her arms around me tightly. “You know you can tell me anything, right? I will never, ever judge you. You’re my best friend.”
My eyes are filling with tears before I can fully process anything past the bear hug. “I know, Pinky,” I whisper, using the nickname I called her back in college. “I love you.”
“I love you too. Now go inside,” she says, spinning me around and smacking my butt.
I dutifully scurry inside my apartment, stopping to wave from the open door before the car takes her even farther up north. My phone dings once I’m inside the building, notifying me that my rideshare is complete. I tip the driver thirty percent, the wine making me as generous as I am dizzy.
After stumbling up the stairs, I spend what feels like five minutes trying to unlock the door with the wrong key. When I find the right one, I push the door open triumphantly, dancing my way inside.
All those years of college parties and underage drinking taught me one crucial rule above all else: Drink your weight in water before going to bed.
Stripping off my heels and my dress in the front hall, I plod across the floor in my underwear, grateful again that I make just barely enough money to live alone. I fill up my biggest water bottle at the filter and chug half the contents before filling it back up the rest of the way. Drunk I may be, but hungover? No, thank you.
It’s not until I’m brushing my teeth and staring at my own reflection that I remember Scarlett’s jarring words from earlier this evening. They vibrate through me with every pulse of my electric toothbrush.
There is no universe in which Hayes would commit, not even to a catch like you.
How many times did I stand here, envisioning the domestic fantasy of Hayes and me brushing our teeth together before bed? How often have I imagined sharing the same space, the same life with my brother’s best friend?
Something in my stomach churns violently. I hurriedly spit out my toothpaste, awaiting the inevitable rush of sickness. But nothing comes. It’s just my own stress, wreaking havoc on my body. All over
