"Um, I baked him cookies for Christmas."
"Yeah, but did he eat them?" Sandra asked.
I sighed and threw a hand up into the air. "How was I supposed to know he was allergic to nuts?"
Sandra crossed her arms over her large chest. "Aren't you friends?"
I rolled my eyes dramatically. "Forgive me for not knowing one teeny, tiny, itty-bitty detail about one of my friends."
Sandra bobbed her head side to side. "Okay, fair, fair," she said, surprising me.
I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at her, fearing a trap.
"Is your mailman's name a 'teeny, tiny, itty-bitty detail', too?" she asked, tracing her finger along the lip of her own wine glass.
"Huh?"
Sandra shook her head. "Nope, no, don't you 'huh' me, Abbi," she said, wagging a finger at me. "Tell me your BFF the mailman's name right now. Tell me, Abbi. Tell me right now. Tell—"
"Why would I need another friend when I have you?" I interrupted, clearly trying to deflect from the fact that I did not indeed know my mailman's name.
Sandra placed a hand against her chest. "I am a fantastic friend," she said. "That's not up for debate. I mean, you really lucked out with me. One-in-a-million kind of friend right here. I mean, really the best."
"Okay now."
"But that's not the point!" Sandra continued. "You have needs that I can't…" Sandra glanced over at the table where Zara sat, still studying, and lowered her voice, "…attend to." She eyed my crossed legs.
I smacked her. "I thought we were playing charades. That's all I need, really. My friend, my daughter, and a nice night in playing charades."
"Emhmm."
I ignored Sandra's pointed gaze and again tried to get Zara to come join us.
"Z, baby, we can do US presidents if you'd like? Or foreign prime ministers? I know you love foreign prime ministers."
When we received no response but the scratch of Zara's pen against her notebook page, Sandra jumped up from the couch, her wine nearly sloshing out of her glass that she clearly had no intention of letting go of.
"How about I go first?" she said, moving to stand behind the coffee table in front of the TV.
I adjusted myself on the couch, tucking my knees beneath me as I grinned. "See, we're having fun," I said. "What's the category?"
Sandra held out her hand. "Don't worry, I don't think you'll have any problem guessing it."
I nestled into the couch with my last few drops of wine, ready to guess. I didn't need much more than this. I really didn't. I was happy. I was.
Even if I wasn't the happiest ever, I was responsible. I was there for her, there to give her what she needed. I was providing for Zara the best I could. I had her enrolled in the best private school in the state. I made sure she participated in every extracurricular activity. I fed her the daily recommended servings of fruits and vegetables, even if they were more often than not from a can. That was what was most important.
"You ready?" Sandra asked, to which I gave a quick nod.
I watched as Sandra held up one finger.
"One word," I replied dutifully.
Sandra nodded and then shuffled her feet from side to side before planting them about a shoulder's width apart. Then she mimed holding something out in front of her, grinned across the living room at me, and then thrust her hips forward again and again and again.
"Sandra!"
After my outburst, I quickly covered my mouth and checked behind the back of the couch, sighing in relief when I, unsurprisingly, found Zara's nose buried behind a growing stack of library books.
"Sandra," I hissed, turning back toward my friend, who was giggling behind her glass of wine.
"Sorry, sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I just couldn't help myself."
I glared at her.
"I'm done, I'm done," she insisted. "Just wanted to have a little bit of fun for a second."
I huffed irritably and said, "We've been having fun this entire time."
Why did it seem like everyone, including myself, needed constant and persistent convincing of this?
"Anyway," Sandra said, ignoring me to instead go to refill her glass, think better of it, and then just grab the whole bottle. "Okay, for real this time."
I relented with a sigh. "Fine."
Sandra nodded, wedged the wine bottle against her chest, and then managed to hold up six fingers. I raised an eyebrow.
"Six words? Wait, is this a movie title or what?"
Sandra repositioned and then held up nine fingers. I frowned in confusion.
"Nine words? You just said it was six wo—Sandra!"
One benefit of her being drunker than me was that when I hurled a pillow at her, she was too slow to duck and I got to watch it hit her in the face. I laughed and realised it really was the first time I'd truly laughed that night. It felt good. And it left a tinge of sadness in my chest.
"Are we going to play or not?" I asked, threatening to throw another pillow at her.
"Yes, yes, Schoolmaster," she said, rolling her eyes. "We'll play, okay?"
I settled back into the couch.
"Two words," I supplied when Sandra held up two fingers.
"First word."
Sandra turned around to face the TV. I frowned.
"Um, turning?"
Sandra faced me again and then made a big deal of turning around.
"One-eighty?" I guessed. "Um, other way? Backwards?"
Sandra's tilting hand told me I was closed.
"Okay, backwards. Second word."
Sandra mimed pulling out a gun and then tipping a hat.
"Cowboy?" I said. "Almost. Me? I'm a cowboy. No, me, cowgirl! Cowgirl."
A mischievous glint sparkled in Sandra's dark eyes as I put it together aloud.
"Backwards cowgirl. Backwards cow…"
Reverse cowgirl.
Sandra squealed as I leapt up from the couch and chased after her. She darted into the kitchen and I followed, snatching at her.
