Page 10 of Losing a Piece of Me

He squeezes me tightly, lifting me off the ground and placing me back on my feet. “I’m good. Where in the hell have you been hiding?”

I take my seat and sip my martini. “Oh, you know, here and there,” I reply, avoiding a real answer.

“I was starting to wonder if you were ever coming back.” He bumps my arm with his elbow. “You know, you never did say goodbye to me.”

I smile. “I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t really say goodbye to anyone.”

“Oh my God, Lexi?” Gemma walks up between us.

“Hey! How have you been?” I stand and give her the same awkward hug. Gemma and I used to be friends. Not best friends, but we hung out on occasion.

She leans in and presses a kiss to Brett’s lips.

“Good! We’re married now.” She holds up her left hand to show off her ring. “Can you believe it?”

“Wow, congratulations.”

“Listen, I can’t stay. I just dropped by to see Brett for a few minutes before I go into work, but would you come over to our place tomorrow? We can have lunch and catch up?”

“I don’t…” Brett starts, but Gemma cuts him off.

“Please? Brett can fire up the grill and we can sit on the patio, have a few drinks, and catch up. What do ya say?”

I look back and forth between them. Gemma’s dark eyes are shining and her lips are turned up into a big smile. Brett looks a little nervous. His eyes are trained on his beer; I can’t read his reaction.

“Okay, sure,” I agree, mostly to buy myself as much time as possible away from my mother’s house.

Gemma cheers, making her red curls bounce as she jumps up and down. “Okay, come over around noon?”

I nod. “That sounds great.”

“I have to get to work. Brett, walk me out?”

He gives me a look I can’t place before nodding and following after Gemma.

Within minutes, he’s back sitting beside me.

“Can I ask you something?” I ask him.

“Shoot.” He turns to look at me.

“Why did you give me that look? If you don’t want me to come over, I won’t.”

He blows it off. “No, not at all. Gemma and I would love to have you over.”

I cock my head to the side. “Are you sure?”

He nods. “Absolutely.” He grabs a bar napkin, writes down their address, and slides it over to me.

I tuck the napkin into my purse before finishing my drink and checking the time. My mom should be retired to her room by now. “Okay. I will see you tomorrow, then?”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

* * *

I wake late the next morning, not surprised to see that my mother didn’t wake me for breakfast. I roll from bed and take a long shower before dressing myself in a pair of jean shorts and my favorite black t-shirt with cut-off sleeves. My dark hair is down free, flowing as it pleases. I fix my makeup and intentionally go heavy on the eyeliner, knowing that it will drive my mother crazy.

The irony of the situation hits me yet again. Twenty-four-years-old, living by myself, and still hell-bent on annoying her any way I can.

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