I Was Told It Would Get Easier(44)
I smiled. “Emily certainly wouldn’t get away with that. I track her every movement on her phone.”
He made a noise under his breath. “Well,” he said, pulling out his wallet to pay the bill. “I can’t imagine that’s very much fun for either of you.”
12
JESSICA
When we got back to the hotel, I felt like I’d spent the previous four hours pushing a rock uphill or attending an endless PTA meeting. I was wiped. I checked my watch. Wow. Nine o’clock.
As soon as we got to the room, Emily threw herself on the bed and opened her computer. God forbid ten minutes should pass without connecting to the internet. I went to the bathroom and texted Frances.
“You there?”
I waited a moment, and then, thankfully, she appeared. “’Sup, dog?”
“OMG you are not going to believe the evening I just had.”
“Spill the tea.”
“David turned out to be super hot, super drunk, and super into sleeping with me. It was extremely awkward.” I start removing my mascara, taking half my lashes with it. I don’t remember that happening when I was younger. Do eyelashes grow back?
A pause, then: “No way. That’s awesome. How often does DHG stay D and H?!”
Let me back up a bit. I had told Frances about David ages before, of course. About how we’d had this supersexy relationship, how we had slept together on and off throughout college, even for a few years after. Frances had christened him Dangerous Hot Guy.
“We all have one,” she’d said. “A guy who blows our buttons off in bed but who is in no way suitable for an actual long-term relationship.”
Now she was delighted. “I was expecting him to be twenty pounds heavier, married, with three kids and erectile dysfunction.”
I texted, “Well, he looks much the same, is divorced, left a highly lucrative job in government law to help the dispossessed, and at least to hear him tell it, has zero dysfunction.”
“So . . . ?”
“So nothing. Emily saw him holding my hand and went totally ballistic. It was beyond embarrassing, and then he patronizingly suggested she spend less time on her cell phone.”
Frances said, “Wow, I bet she loved that.”
“Yup, we left the hotel bar, then she and I had a follow-up question-and-answer session about the state of my sex life that I could definitely have lived without.” My fingers couldn’t tap fast enough; I kept having to go back and fix autocorrections. “And then, to cap this challenge of fire, we had dinner with my dad. I spent the whole time deflecting the kind of questioning I’m usually on the other side of.”
There was a pause while she presumably digested that. Then: “And now?”
“Now I’m hiding in the bathroom texting you!”
My phone buzzed with another text. “OMG David texted me, hang on.”
“Hurry!”
I swiped over. “My offer still stands, Jess. I’m in the lobby.”
I swiped back. “He’s in the lobby!”
“No! Stalker!”
“Yes!” I suddenly felt panicky and slightly nauseated. “I’m freaking out.”
“Don’t freak out. Just tell him you’re not interested.” A pause. “You’re not interested, right?”
I swiped back. “David, go home. This isn’t going to happen.”
I swiped back to Frances. “No, it’s not going to happen. I don’t want it to happen.”
“To be fair, you were complaining only last week about your lack of sex!”
“Yes, but in the context of discussing vibrators, not hooking up with stalker ex-boyfriends!”
“Good point. Go watch TV with Emily and lock your door.”
“It’s a hotel, it’s already locked.”
“Another good point. Text me tomorrow.”
Another text came in from David, but I blocked him and shut off my phone. I could feel an intense desire for my own bed, my own house, my own safe space. So I crawled into bed next to Emily, and together we watched TV and I felt better.
EMILY
I ate so much at Harrisons I kind of thought I’d crash out once we got to the hotel. But when I checked my phone in the car, I had dozens of texts from both Becca and Sienna, which, you know, ruined my potential food coma. After pondering it for a while, I decided to take the decisive step of ignoring them both; I’ll deal when I get home. Meanwhile, life online has continued, with Ruby trying to cheer Sienna up by posting a funny picture of her, which, it turned out, Sienna hated because it looks like she has no butt at all. We all swiftly posted pictures that were more butt flattering, and slowly the drama simmered down. Sometimes social media feels like a runaway train, or an out-of-control team of horses in a western movie. Other times it’s so boring I could quit it forever, once I’ve made sure there’s no more good stuff over here on this feed . . .
I sent a picture of my room, so they’re all jealous, which they wouldn’t be if they could see how tiny it really was. But I stood on the desk and put a good filter on, and by the time I was done it was amazing. Not that anyone cares anyway, though I did get over a hundred likes. Pretty standard.
Thank goodness for Friends; it’s my favorite show. It’s open on my laptop all the time, nestled in the background. It’s like one of those apps that make ocean noises or whatever. Chandler Bing is my ocean noise.