"You're an asshole," she whispered when we finally walked side by side out of the ballroom.
"Did you book the penthouse?" I asked, ignoring her.
"God, you're such an asshole."
Caroline led us through a maze of twisting hallways. It was only by chance that I noticed the linen closet before we turned again to face a bank of shining gold elevators. The door looked like any other and the tiny cursive print on the little plaque was almost too small to read. But I knew.
I knew it was the one.
I jammed at the call button angrily even after Caroline had already pushed it. Why the fuck did she have to lead us this way? Weren't there other elevators in this goddamn hotel? I cursed as the elevator doors remained closed. I wanted to push away those memories. I needed to push away those memories.
Even once we were inside the elevator, the ride to the top floor seemed like far too long to wait. I turned to Caroline and ripped apart the top of her dress without warning. Her mouth fell open and she looked down in shock at her ruined dress and naked tits. But when her eyes lifted back to mine, a dark lust burnt inside them. She lifted her skirt and turned around, hands braced on the brass rails.
"Fuck me," she exhaled, her eyes on mine in the mirror.
I grinned as I stepped toward her.
"With pleasure."
Abbi
Sandra refilled her glass to the point of overflowing with the discount bottle of wine, and I quickly covered my own glass when she went to do the same for me. I received a dramatic roll of her eyes and an exacerbated sigh.
"Abbi, girl, it's Friday night."
I lifted my glass and shook the contents for her to see. "I know. That's why I'm having a drink at all," I said.
Sandra took a big gulp of her wine before it could spill onto my couch. She pointed a finger at me and narrowed her eyes.
"Honey, I drink more than that at communion each Sunday. Live a little. Have some fun for once!"
I took a tentative sip of my own half-pour of wine. "I am having fun," I protested. "I mean, we're having fun, aren't we, Z?"
I shifted to look over the back of the couch at Zara, who sat hunched over a pile of library books at the small kitchen table. Her long blonde hair was tucked behind her ears and her green eyes followed her petite finger across the page. Her plate, with two slices of the pizza Sandra and I ordered hours ago, was still sitting untouched across from her, nudged dangerously close to the edge by the occasional shifting around of books and notebooks and highlighters. I frowned slightly as I watched her working diligently on a Friday night; I'd asked her earlier in the week if she wanted to host a sleepover with a friend or two, and she'd told me that all the girls said they were busy. I believed her because I wasn't sure what to do if I didn't.
I was trying my best to be the best mom for her, working extra shifts, taking second jobs, going without myself, all to make sure she had everything she wanted and needed. But sometimes I wasn't sure that my best was enough.
"Z, baby?" I called again to her when I didn't get a response. "Why don't you come over here and have fun with Sandra and me? We'll play charades."
Zara didn't even look up from her book as she said, "I'm having fun over here, Mom."
I appealed to Sandra for help. I'd first hired Sandra as a babysitter seven years ago, and now I couldn't imagine my life without her.
"What are you working on, Zara?" Sandra asked my daughter.
"National parks project."
Sandra drummed her fingers along the side of her still very full wine glass. "That's not due for weeks, right?"
Zara reached across the table for another book. "Right."
"So maybe you have time for some fun real quick?"
Sandra and I smiled at each other hopefully, but it was not long lived.
"I told you," Zara said. "I'm having fun."
Sandra sagged against the couch cushions in defeat. I sighed and then smiled across the room at my daughter.
"Okay, baby, you have fun," I said, forcing a smile.
When I looked back over at Sandra, she was assessing me over the lip of her already refilled wine glass.
"What?" I said, shrugging my shoulders. "We're all having fun."
"Emhmm."
I sipped my wine sheepishly, avoiding Sandra's firm gaze. An “emhmm” from her meant a loud, resounding “bullshit”, just like “bless your heart” meant “go ahead and go fuck yourself, please, and thank you”.
I tried not so subtly to change the subject. "So I was doing some more research on the best high schools in the state and—"
"You need to go out," Sandra said, interrupting me.
I sighed. "Can I at least tell you about this one high sch—"
"No," Sandra interrupted again. "No, you may not. Zara is nine and you need to go out and get laid."
I lunged forward and clasped a hand quickly over Sandra's mouth. I jerked my eyes toward Zara, and Sandra calmly peeled away my hand.
"That child wouldn't hear a fire alarm until the flames were already on her books," Sandra said.
I glanced warily over at Zara, who licked her finger to turn a page.
"Listen to me, Abbi," Sandra said. "You haven't been laid in years, and your only friend is your child's old-ass wino babysitter."
My lips paused on the edge of my wine glass. "You're not my only friend," I protested.
Sandra levelled her gaze at me. "The mailman does not count," she argued, somehow reading my admittedly sad
