Stay(90)

“I’ve dated every match in the tri-county area, and this is it. Ralph Stern is the last man on Earth.”

Drew laughs even more, and I have an inspiration. “Screw the dating apps. We’re going out tonight—just you and me.”

Her laugh disappears, and she’s shaking her head before the words even start. “Nope. Not interested. No.”

“Yes.” I’m off the couch and catching her by the arms. “You’ve been cooped up alone in that big old house since your dad went in the nursing home. You’re going out with me.” I pull her trench coat on her shoulders. “Anyway, I’m your ride, so you can’t argue.”

“You’re kidnapping me?”

“If that’s what it takes.” I lead her out the glass entrance, waiting as she locks the doors, then she follows me to my lime-green Subaru.

“Do you think it’s responsible to blow your paycheck on a night out?”

“Yes, my sad little paycheck only covers one night out. Thanks for reminding me.” We’re in the car, and I drive us to my mom’s house. “Kenneth Banks was so adamant about a useful degree. I’m a licensed therapist, and I can’t pay my bills.”

“Stop it. You’re building your practice.” Drew looks out the window, adding under her breath. “Kenneth Banks was a royal ass.”

“It’s okay. You can say it out loud.” Five turns, and we’re at Ma’s. “I’m confronting my daddy issues.” Her eyebrows shoot up, but I hold up a hand. “The first step is admitting you have a problem.”

“Drew!” Mom meets us inside the door, giving my friend a long hug. She pretty much adopted Drew after her mother died when we were eight. “We prayed for your father this morning at church, and I burned incense to the Buddah when I got home.”

“All the bases covered!” I lean to let Ma kiss my cheek, before swinging through the kitchen for a plate of dumplings.

“Eat in the kitchen, Ruby Banks!” Mom yells, but I keep going to my bedroom.

“We’re going out for a little while, Ma. We have to get ready.”

“Church tomorrow!”

“That woman, I swear…” Rolling my eyes, I close my bedroom door. Drew flops on my single bed with the plate, and I take a dumpling while inspecting my wardrobe.

“Here, you can wear this.” I pull out a super-short, high-waisted mini with a cute long-sleeved crop top. “You’ll look hot and totally on point.”

She takes it and frowns. “I don’t know why I’m dressing up. I’m not looking for a date.”

“You’re dressing up because it’s Saturday night, you just got paid, and you’re going out with your best friend!”

“You’re feeling good tonight. What are you not telling me? Did you get into your mom’s herbs?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” I laugh, but her question makes me pause. “You’re right, though, I do feel good… like something’s coming. Maybe the planets shifted.”

“I’ll take that forecast.” She goes into the bathroom to change. “Lord knows I could use a shift.”

Nibbling on the dumpling, I study my wardrobe, finally settling on a velvet sheath with a sheer black top and built-in bustier. “Velvet is supposedly out… now it’s lamé. And track suits.”

“I am not wearing a track suit.” Drew’s back looking like a hot tamale, and we freshen our makeup, pushing each other side to side with our hips in front of the mirror and laughing.

Next, I sit as she uses the curling iron to touch up the waves to my long, brown hair. “Maybe I should mix it up. Wear a wig?”

“No.” Our eyes meet briefly before she returns to checking my head for curl-holes.

With a sigh, I take another dumpling. “I’ve got to get a better job, D. I can’t live in this house anymore. It’s embarrassing.”

“Be patient. The clients will come.” She releases a smooth spiral across my eye, and I push it behind my ear. “Anyway, your mom likes having you here, especially since your dad died.”

“I’ll be twenty-five next year, and still living with my mother.”

“At least you’re gorgeous. Let’s go!”

She shakes her long, naturally wavy blonde hair—which I do not hate her for having—and we head for the door. “Just don’t completely lose it and go out with Ralph Stern.”

“If you’re truly my best friend, you will never let that happen.”

“I am your best friend.”

“Thank God.”



* * *



Patrons spill out the door of The Red Cat as we walk up. It’s the only bar in our tiny town-square, and the interior hasn’t been updated since Frank Sinatra was alive. Lava lamps dot around the inside, and blood-red shag carpet covers the floors, running all the way up the bar. The scent of cigarettes permeates the room, even though smoking in bars has been banned for years, and an ancient jukebox playing real records is blasting “That’s Amoré.”

“Are you kidding me?” Drew recoils. “The Red Cat is where old men hide out when they don’t want to go home.”

“It’s the hot new place!” I grab her hand and drag her through the door. “Strong drinks served cheap.”