Rugged(52)

“You, ah, been married long?” Suze asks, eyes wide and slowly taking a sip of her margarita. When she called to see if I wanted to grab dinner, she didn’t expect this. I owe her one.

“Five years.” Callie sighs and puts her head in her hands. “It started out so good, you know? I mean, I love David. I know he loves me. At least, I thought I knew.” Her voice gets unusually quiet on that last sentence. Uh oh.

“Hey now, don’t say that,” I say, frowning. Questioning love is a bad, bad sign.

“But it’s true,” Callie says, sniffing and rubbing her eyes, spreading her mascara around a bit. “David’s never home. Every morning I wake up, and he’s already in the shower. Then he’s out the door before I’ve even got breakfast on the table. Then it’s me and the kids and Sesame Street all day long, until I feel like I want to bust through the TV and start throttling Elmo.” She looks panicked. “Seriously, I have dreams about killing Muppets. What kind of sick mind operates like that?”

“This union between the two of you is fragile,” Jessa says. She’s wearing a peasant blouse and a pair of jeans. She’s also drinking some kind of herbal tea. Which is good, since I don’t think they’ll let nineteen year olds shoot booze. Rubbing her sister’s shoulder, she says, “You need to both walk barefoot down by the lake, hand in hand. Feel the breath of the wind in your hair; sense the buds of spring lying dormant beneath the ground. Look deep into each other’s eyes, and speak the truths that sleep quietly in your soul. Once you see your lover as your other half, a person with his or her own aches and needs, then you will be able to fully give yourself over to the union of flesh and spirit.”

It is super quiet as the group tries to digest all of this. “Jessa, do me a favor as a sister,” Callie says. “Stop talking.”

“I love you,” Jessa says, kissing Callie on top of her head. Sibling affection.

“I want to be like you,” Callie tells me, laying her head on the bar, slurring a bit. Maybe she should’ve eaten her enchiladas before the third shot of tequila. “No marriage, no house. Just hours of hanging out with reality TV stars, dinner at the Ivy, dancing at the Roxy.” Callie is super well informed on how Hollywood would’ve run back in the 80s.

“More like fourteen hour days with no sex life,” I say, nudging Suze. She laughs and nudges back. Look at us. A pair of professional lady nudgers. Callie blows a raspberry as she bites into a lime wedge. Heh. Raspberry and lime. Fruit salad.

Okay, so maybe I’m a little tipsy too.

“You’ve got to help me out here,” Callie sighs. “I have to live vicariously through somebody. Usually all I have is Jessa.” She nods at her younger sister.

“This bar has a terrible ambiance,” Jessa says, waving her hands. “I sense that someone died here. No, a tree. A mighty oak gave its life, pulled from its roots so this restaurant could be built.” She takes a bite of nachos. “Mmm. The guacamole is good.”

“I don’t have much going on,” I tell Callie, trying to get back on topic.

“Crushes? Smooches? Feelings? Anything, Laurel.” Callie sighs, rubbing her forehead. “Oh my God, I’ve become that sad, sex-crazed housewife. All that’s left is for me to start popping pills and trying to seduce the mailman. How did this happen?”

“I’m sure that’s not the case,” Suze says lamely, trying to add something to the madness. She widens her eyes and gives me a ‘do something’ look. I sigh.

“Well, there’s this guy. He’s, um, tall,” I say, trying to think of the vaguest possible terms with which to describe Flint. Tall. Drives a car. Lives in a house. No, house is too specific. Lives on planet Earth.

“Hot?” Callie asks. Already, she’s droolingly captivated.

“Hottest,” I say without thinking. Oh, damn. I think I’ve tipped her off, but she doesn’t even blink. That’s the good thing about sisters; they only see their studly brothers as snot-nosed little brats. “We, er, had a quick thing back in LA. But it’s over now.” Suze looks at me, that knowing light in her eyes. She keeps it to herself, like a good friend, and takes another sip of margarita.

“Piece of advice: don’t try to get him back. If someone doesn’t want to be with you, there’s nothing you can do about it.” Callie sighs. “Lord, then you could maybe give the same advice to my brother. He’s still pining after this one girl something awful.”

“Callie,” Jessa says. It’s a warning. “Flowers.”

I don’t know what that code word means, but right now I don’t care.

“Flint wants someone back?” My heart starts pounding. Maybe he told Callie about me in the vaguest terms. You know? She has hair. She lives in the United States. But my stomach drops when Callie says,

“Yeah, his old girlfriend. Charlotte.” She yawns and stretches. “Not to gossip, but that boy had it so bad.” Callie gets another shot of tequila and takes it without salt or lime. Okay. Maybe we want to close the tab.

“Like how bad?” I say it so casual and cool. At least, I think I do. Suze keeps looking at me, her eyes huge.

“He was going to propose.” Callie smacks her lips, enjoying the Cuervo. “Had our mother’s ring and everything. They met at Columbia, and Charlotte followed him home. At first I thought it was true love—you know, she gave up her world for him—but then she got an offer to go back to New York, and she took it like that.” Callie snaps. “Flint didn’t want to go. That was all it took. Tells you everything you need to know.”