Page 80 of My Worst Pucking Enemy

“I’m not here to pick you up. I cancelled too. Let me in. I’m not leaving until I see that you’re okay.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Then I hear footsteps padding towards the door. She yanks it open. She’s got a glass of wine in one hand, and she’s wearing a baggy T-shirt and shorts and no makeup, which I love on her.

“I’m okay, really,” she sighs.

“Nope. Open the door. I need proof of life. Maybe somebody’s holding you hostage.”

“Okay. Come in if you want, but I warn you, I’m lousy company tonight.”

She hesitates as if waiting for something.

“What?” I say.

“Aren’t you going to say, ‘So, same as always,’ or something like that?”

“Nah.” I shrug. “Too easy. Also, I don’t like to kick someone when they’re down. I want you fighting and feisty if I’m going to insult you.”

“Sounds shockingly decent of you.”

I follow her into the room. Her roommate’s not there.

“Clair’s at her boyfriend’s, and Kennedy’s at some art gallery opening.” She sighs. “You will be kept company by me, myself, and my self-pity. There’s barely enough room for you in here, but we’ll fit you in somehow. Can I offer you some wine?”

I shake my head.

“Good, because I want to finish the bottle myself.” She grabs a bottle from her desk, pours the rest of it into her wineglass, and drains half of it.

Then she plops down on her bed, making the wine slosh in her glass. I sit next to her.

“Honestly, you don’t have to stay. I’m okay. I’m having a bad night, but I’ll get over it. Life goes on.” Her voice is sad and flat when she says that, and I want to find whoever made her feel this way and reduce them to steak tartare.

“So, what gives?”

She shakes her head, making a sour face. “I’m not ready to talk about it. I’m sorry. I don’t like talking about negative stuff. It just ends up making me feel worse.”

“My mother always says, a burden shared is a burden halved.”

“Your mother’s a smart lady,” she says, but doesn’t elaborate on what’s bugging her.

“And?”

“And you should tell her I said so.” She’s slurring her words ever so slightly.

“All right,” I say. “I’ll make you a deal.” I point at Clair’s desk, which has a stack of games on it. “We’re going to play some games. If I win, you’ll tell me what’s bothering you. I promise to listen as a friend, without any judgment or snarky remarks whatsoever. If you win, I’ll back off and I won’t ask you again. Deal?”

“I don’t know. I’m mildly smashed; I might be off my game a little tonight.” She purses her lips. “Ahh, it’s fine. I always beat Clair. I’ll kick your butt at anything but hockey.”

“Well, thank you for giving me hockey. That’s very generous of you. I get to pick the games, of course.”

“No, I do!”

“Must everything be a fight with you?” I narrow my eyes at her.

“It’s more fun that way.” Her eyes have a mischievous gleam, and she gives me a half smile.

“We’ll flip for it, you pain in the ass.”

“That’s Ms. Pain in the Ass to you. Madame Pain in the Ass. Queen Pain in the Ass. Wow, I’m drinker than I thought I was. Did I say that right?”

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