Page 11 of Trash the Dress

I glance with one eye at my phone beside me and, sure enough, seven missed calls. A knock sounds again as I groan and stand. “I’m coming, Anna. You’re gonna get me kicked out of my apartment with all your yelling,” I say loud enough for her to hear.

When I open the door, Anna stands there in her favorite T-shirt that readsYou thought it, but I said it.I step aside so she can come in and she promptly drops her things on the chair in the living room before kicking her shoes off and getting comfortable on the couch. I shut and lock my door back, and then plop back down beside her.

She simply stares at me and I know she’s trying to decide where to start. “What?” I ask.

She smiles then. “Let’s skip past the part where I high-five you for slapping that wench Eric was sleeping with and go straight to the part where when I left the church, I saw you with Mr. Hottie-But-Grumpy-Photographer.”

“Oh. That,” I say as I grab my blanket and cover back up. “He took some pictures of me. We talked some. He wanted to make sure I was okay because he’s been through something similar. That’s why he seems so grumpy,” I tell her, trying to steer the conversation to something other than my humiliation.

“Uh-huh. What kind of pictures did he take of you? Anything interesting?” she asks, waggling her brows suggestively.

I swat at her leg, and she laughs. “Anna, you’re terrible,” I say while laughing too.

“There she is,” Anna says, her eyes crinkle in the corners as she smiles at me.

“Who?” I ask, feigning ignorance.

“Scarlett Shepard, my best friend. The girl who never backs down from a dare and has the most contagious laugh I’ve ever heard.”

I roll my eyes and get up. “Do you want some coffee? I need some,” I say.

“What? You know me, and you know I won’t let you stay in the trenches of sadness for long. I know you loved Eric, and even though he wasn’t my favorite person, I’m truly sorry he hurt you. But just in case you were wondering, I like him even less now. And yes, I’ll take some coffee with you,” Anna says.

While I start up the coffee pot, Anna comes into the kitchen too and sits at the counter watching me.

“Anna, you know I hate it when you get all serious on me. That’s my job,” I tell her.

“I know. But I also want you to know I’m here for you. Just because I didn’t like the guy doesn’t mean you can’t cry on my shoulder about how things played out. You’re my best friend. And I know you’re hurting,” she says softly.

I smile at her and come around to where she sits on the stool. Her embrace feels safe as always and a sob escapes from me that I didn’t give permission to bubble up from where I buried it. She does the same, because when people really love and care about you, they feel all the sadness and happiness with you. Having a relationship like that with a friend, lover, or family member makes you comfortably vulnerable. I hug her until the smell of coffee permeates the air. When I pull back and swipe under my eyes, I say, “Thank you for always having my back, tootsie-wootsie.”

“Always and forever, hunny-bunny,” she says with a smile.

“So can you elaborate on these pictures?” she asks with a wink, swiping under her eyes too.

I pour our coffee in two mugs and add some cream and sugar before passing hers over to her. “Come back to the couch of shame and I’ll tell you. I need to get comfortable for this conversation,” I tell her.

She spits her coffee back in her mug and wipes the dribble from her chin before turning back to find my eyes. “Couch of shame? As in you did the walk of shame? As in you slept with him?”

I carefully set my coffee mug on a coaster beside me on the end table and face Anna again. “Um, yeah,” I admit, averting my eyes from hers.

She grabs my hands after setting her coffee on the opposite end table. “Details. Now,” she says quickly, practically ordering me to confess my sins.

I cover my face and laugh. “Why did I think this would stay a secret?” I ask aloud.

“No clue, because me and you, we don’t have secrets. Now stop stalling and dish,” she says as she gestures with her hands between us.

“Okay, okay. He found me watching the sun set on the lake and told me he could still make the day magical if I wanted it to be,” I say first.

“I bet he did too,” she laughs.

I swat at her leg again playfully and add, “I’m telling this story.”

She raises her hands as if to concede her shenanigans.

“He said we could do a photo shoot where I trashed the dress,” I tell her.

“Trash the dress?” she asks.

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