F*ck Marriage(34)

No, I’m embarrassed. I lift my chin a little, crush my lips together. I wish he’d just leave me alone, leave me to my embarrassment.

“If I did what you wanted me to do, I’d be just like him,” Satcher says.

It takes a minute to realize who him is. I feel dizzy and sick; I’m crashing down from a pretty great buzz.

“Ugh,” is my only response. I’d not considered Willa in all of this. Willa and her perfect body. Willa and her symmetrical face. I suppose that was selfish of me, that the girl he’s seeing didn’t even come to mind when I tried to drunk-kiss her boyfriend.

“Billie—”

“It’s Wendy,” I bite back. “Wen-dee.”

“Will you drop this fucking Wendy shit already?”

I’m so startled by his tone that I stop walking and stare. The light has changed again and there’s a fresh round of honking as Satcher blocks an entire lane of traffic.

“Why?”

“Because you don’t become a different person by changing your name. You’re still the same spiteful, childish, ridiculous woman you were.”

“Fine,” I spit. I am sick of Wendy anyway, always so fucking put together. I lob my ice cream cone at his car and it connects with a wet thud.

“Seriously, Billie?” He shakes his head, a look of utter bewilderment on his face.

“Wendy was the mature one!”

He peels off and I stare at the melting puddle of mint chocolate chip wistfully.





Chapter Seventeen





I’m somber that night at The Viable Vine, my fight with Satcher hanging heavily on my heart. I pick at the appetizers they order and only half listen to their conversation. There are five of us, nix Courtney who claims she doesn’t drink but always carries a bottle of water around that I’ve long suspected is vodka. The girls are giggling, already on their third drink and getting sloppy. I’m toying with the stem of my glass, my lemon drop tepid, and wondering if Woods is actually going to show up. I’ve had a headache for the better part of four hours, one I feel like I deserve, which is probably why I haven’t taken the Tylenol in my purse. At nine thirty they stand up, looking at me expectantly.

“Billie,” Annalise says. “Earth to Billie…”

“What? Oh. Sorry.”

“We’re heading back to the hotel, you comin’?”

“I’m going to stay a bit. You go ahead.”

Annalise looks unsure, but then her phone starts ringing and she walks out with it pressed to her ear, waving at me. I throw back my lemon drop and order another.

I’m getting ready to close my tab and head out when Woods saunters in. He’s already buzzed and I realize he must have been out with Pearl before this. Where did he tell her he was going? Surely not to meet with me.

“Hey.” He slides into the seat Annalise had occupied not thirty minutes ago.

“Hey, yourself.”

He takes a sip of my lemon drop. “Like candy.” He grins.

“So,” I say casually, “what’s up?”

“What do you mean?”

I stare at him. “You said you needed to talk to me about something.”

“Oh, right,” he says. “Let’s just visit for a minute.”

Visit. I forgot that he used to say things like: Let’s visit. It’s painful when you remember good things about the person who broke your heart. It’s better to remember the things you hated, if only to keep the anger stronger than the sadness. He asks about how my parents are and if I dated while in Washington. I tell him about Keith Gus.

“You dated a guy named Keith Gus? Wow. Tell me the part about the crying again…”

I roll my eyes. “He used to sob when the Seahawks lost. One time he was so depressed, he wandered drunk into the woods in his boxers and didn’t come out till the next morning.”

“And where were his boxers?”

“Oh my God, Woods.” I can’t help but smile. “They were gone.”

He doubles over at the waist he’s laughing so hard. When he comes back up, there’s a curl hanging over his eye and I have to stop myself from touching it.

“Wow,” he says. “I forgot how fun you are.” His eyes are glowing warm like honey.

“You’re drunk.” I shake my head, pressing my smile into a tight, disapproving grin.

“Keith Gus…” He shakes his head.

“So,” I say. “You and Pearl…”

He pulls out his pack of Juicy Fruit and offers me one. “Had to go and kill the mood…”

“That’s not happy in love speak,” I say. “What gives?”

Woods grimaces. “She’s not happy you’re back.”

“I don’t imagine so.”

He rubs his forehead. “She wants me to talk to Satcher. Ask him to let you go.”

Heat rises to my face and I feel a tightness in my chest. “Are you fucking kidding me? Rhubarb is my—”

“—was,” Woods says. “It was yours. You sold it.”

“I only sold because you fucking cheated on me. You and I both know I never would have left if I didn’t have to.” I’m practically standing now, ready to storm out.