Good Girl(11)

Payton takes the tank from me and examines it, the straps dangling from her fingertips. "Huh. What else do you know how to do? Do you churn butter? Can you knit us an afghan? Oh, my God, I bet you know how to bake a Thanksgiving turkey, don't you?" She drops into a seat at the table and places a hand on my forearm. "Lydia, did you earn the 1950's housewife badge?" She blinks, eyes wide with inquiry.

"Pfft, there is no such thing as a 1950's housewife badge, which you would know if you hadn't gotten kicked out. I did earn the dinner party badge though."

"Oh, holy shit." She drops her hand and leans back, looking at me in something akin to horror. "I was joking. There's a dinner party badge? Stop."

"There is. Also, knitting has become trendy again, just so you know. And no, I don't know how to knit. Maybe we can take a class together?" I'm teasing because I don't think there's a chance Payton is signing up for a knitting class with me.

"I don't really think that would be my cup of Coke," she replies.

"Cup of Coke? Do you mean not your cup of tea?"

"No. I don't like tea." She yawns and examines another pair of pajama shorts.

"It's just a saying, Payton. You don't need to replace tea with something you like."

"Hmm. I don't think that's right. Anyway, Ikea?"

"Do I really deserve new desk accessories if I'm getting fired?"

"Ugh, enough with the getting fired." Payton groans into her coffee cup. "It's not happening. And spending the weekend making sheet pajamas is not happening either. Let's go to the pool, then we'll go to Ikea and grab dinner."





Payton is sly. Which is why I didn't realize that 'go to Ikea and grab dinner' was really just trickery for dragging me out to socialize. Oh, we went to Ikea. She even drove. Then she drove us to the bar.

"Really, Payton?" I ask when she pulls into a parking spot at Hennigan's. "You said we were going to dinner."

"What? We can order chicken fingers here. That counts as dinner." She flips the visor down as she digs a lip gloss from her handbag and uncaps it. "A couple guys from the pool are going to meet up with us."

"This is a date? You set me up on a date?" I turn to her in confusion while trying to figure out how she managed to make plans for tonight while I was with her at the pool. She's clearly much better at this sort of thing than I am. I wonder which guys? No one I saw today compared to Rhys, but perhaps it's time I stopped being so picky. Maybe my problem is that I'm unreasonable?

"Uh, no. It's not a date." She shakes her head, raising a skeptical eyebrow in my direction. "It's a couple of guys who live at our apartment complex meeting us at this bar, which is less than a mile from where we all live."

"Oh, okay."

"Relax, grasshopper. It's just drinks."

"Great idea."

"Really?" Now she's openly dubious, doing nothing to hide her narrowed eyes or pursed lips.

"Really." I flip my own visor down and examine my reflection. "Well played, just warn me next time so I can wear something besides a t-shirt that says 'Let's Taco ’Bout It.'" I remove the hair band from my hair and shake my hair out, combing my fingers through it. I got some sun today and I put on mascara before we left, so good enough. "But tomorrow I'm making sheet pajamas all day," I tell her, waving my hands in the air, complete with wiggly fingers, "and I don't want to hear a word about it."

"Fine. But this was disappointingly easy. I was kinda gearing up to drag you inside," Payton says as we exit the car. The warmth hits the moment I slide a leg out of the car. It's about seventy degrees at eight PM, but yes, it's a dry heat, as they say.

"Sorry to disappoint," I tell her as I slam the passenger door shut. "If it helps, I'm not making out with anyone this time though. And that is not a challenge. It's not happening."

"Why not? The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else."

"I was never under Rhys."

"I think it's figurative."

Once inside, we grab a table and order a couple of beers. I don't particularly love beer, but what the heck, when in Rome. I wonder if they drink beer in Rome? Maybe that's not a great analogy. Maybe I should have ordered wine? I wasn't sure if chicken fingers went with wine. Well, never mind—my beer has arrived.

Josh and Dan have arrived too. I recognize them from the pool, Payton reminding me who is who before they reach our table. A third guy arrives a few minutes after them, one I don't recognize but who seems to be a friend of theirs. I don't catch his name, and he doesn't appear to have much interest in getting mine, so I don't bother. In any case, Payton wasn't lying. This isn't a setup or a date. It’s just some people getting together to have a drink, maybe become friends. Maybe more, who knows?

Socializing is hard.

I don't have any particular phobias about socializing, nothing like that. I'm quite good at social etiquette and making friends. I earned every life skill badge one can obtain during my Girl Trooper days.

But bars are different. Distributing coasters to avoid drink rings on the tabletop is not considered a social asset, for example.