Page 3 of Luck of the Draw

My best friend, Samantha, was coincidentally going through a divorce too. While mine was all sorted out and we were just waiting for the year waiting period to pass, hers was still in mediation, which wasn’t going particularly well. Mostly because, unlike me, Samantha wasn’t one to lie down and accept unjust terms to make things easier for everyone else.

Our kids were with their fathers the same weekends, and she’d decided that we would spend those weekends figuring out who we were now. Mostly, I’d learned who I wasn’t. The vase I’d made in pottery class had been so crooked, it fell and broke, putting itself out of its own misery. Sam and I had gone to a wine and painting class and downed too much wine, so we’d ended the night by creating a massive bonfire in the back yard with our unicorn “masterpieces.” (Mine had somehow ended up with two horns.) I’d even tried my hand at cake decorating, but the Festive Luau Pig Cake I’d found on Pinterest and made for my friends in the Bad Luck Club had turned into an evil-eyed Porky Pig monstrosity that tasted even worse than it looked, although most of my friends had been nice enough to lie about it.

Still, Sam had pushed me to stretch my limitations. Which was how we’d ended up at one of my friend Blue’s new knitting classes at her studio. I’d decided I was done with trying to find myself after I got so tangled up in my yarn, I’d literally started to strangle myself.

So Sam and I had started staying home on our solo weekends, drinking wine and watching rom-coms, which, I decided, wasn’t a bad hobby at all. I rather liked staying home. But Sam, who had done her share of wallowing after finding her ex screwing the babysitter on her kids’ art table, was an overachiever. It only took a few weekends of our revised “chill” plan before she decided she was ready to take life by the arms and shake it.

A few weekends ago, Sam had paused the movie we were watching and cleared her throat as if she were about to make an important pronouncement. “We only have one life, Dee, and it’s time to live it.”

Which I agreed with in theory…from my comfy perch on the sofa, eating Dove chocolate and drinking moscato while watching Tom Hanks woo Meg Ryan. But what Samreallymeant was that it was time to go out and pick up guys.

That was way too far out of my comfort zone. Still, shewasmy best friend. On our last free weekend, I’d agreed to be her wingwoman, and she’d flirted it up with multiple guys while I nursed the single drink I’d allowed myself as the designated driver. No one had paid attention to me, which had been both a blessing and a curse, only reinforcing that Randy was right. I was frumpy, tired, and unattractive. He’d made sure to tell me as he walked out the door that I’d been lucky to keep him as long as I had.

On our drive home, Sam had delicately suggested that what I really needed was a makeover, not because I wasn’t already beautiful, but because I needed to see a change so I’d finally believe it. I’d told her she was drunk and a good friend, and then she’d never mentioned it again.

But her words had sat in the back of my head for almost two weeks, like two sides of a scale, teetering back and forth. The Dee who couldn’t draw the attention of a man if she were on fire, running through a crowd, versus a new version of me—one who wasn’t gorgeous like Sam and Blue, because I was always going to be me, but who made the most out of what she had. A version of Dee who might catch the attention of one man, because, really, that was all I needed. Just one good man.

I shook my head. I needed another man like I needed a hole bored into my head with the Dremel drill Randy had left in the garage—the one I’d “accidentally given away to Goodwill,” but which was really hidden in the hall closet next to the maroon and metallic silver sweater my mother had knitted me for Christmas.

I sent the boys to bed, then put on my worn-out pajamas and climbed into bed, flipping on HGTV, dreaming of buying a run-down house and fixing it up. Who was I kidding? I wanted those smoking-hot Property Brothers to do it for me so I could watch the muscles on their arms and backs tighten and flex as they drove those sledgehammers into walls. Of course, Bear and his sexy son Cal were flipping a house, but Cal was more like a slightly younger brother than someone for me to ogle. Besides, it was better to keep it firmly in the realm of fantasy. It had been a decade and a half since I’d gone on my last first date.

My phone dinged, and I jumped, thinking it was Sam calling me out via text for drooling over the twins. Instead, it was a text from Bear.

How are you doing with your challenge?

Anxiety clenched my gut.

The Bad Luck Club was for people who felt down on their luck and wanted to change their lives around. I’d stumbled onto it last fall after I’d posted a bunch of items up for sale on Craigslist in an attempt to get enough money to pay the electric bill. As usual, I started scanning the free section to see if there were any offerings that might be good for the boys, and Bear’s ad had caught my eye, especially the line that said,The lucky need not apply. So I’d gone to a meeting and discovered the Bad Luck Club was more like a support group meets truth or dare.

One of the group’s rules required complete honesty between sponsors and sponsees. Bear knew my deepest, darkest secrets and fears. We were there to grow, and in keeping with that, sponsors created biweekly challenges to help their sponsees overcome the fears holding them back. The challenges had a theme, picked from a fishbowl into which we all contributed our ideas. They were usually generic enough to be applied to everyone’s goals.

Last week’s theme was to do something naughty, submitted by my own sponsee, Nicole, who lived to do naughty things. (I’d protested, citing that very fact, but Bear and Cal, the founders of the group, thought some of the other members, specifically Harry and me, could benefit from the challenge.) So the day after the meeting Bear had sent a text, telling me todo something that breaks some rules. A week and a half had passed, meaning I only had a few days left, and I still hadn’t done my challenge, let alone figured out what to do. I wasn’t typically a rule breaker, and while turning in the boys’ library books a day late would technically qualify as breaking a rule, I was pretty sure that wasn’t what Bear had in mind.

I had to come up with something, or I was out of the club.

The whole purpose of the Bad Luck Club was to graduate. Blue had graduated almost two months ago, but she’d been ready. I wasn’t even close. I was still lost and confused about my new purpose in life. I needed the support of the club members, which meant I needed to put more effort into coming up with a plan.

I texted Bear back,Still working on it.

He responded right away.Let me know if you need help.

I’d just started to put my phone down when it dinged with another text. I figured it was Bear, encouraging me to call him, but it was Samantha.

Our Saturday is starting in the afternoon. I’m picking you up at three. And don’t ask what we’re doing. It’s a surprise.

Ordinarily, I’d be thrilled, but part of me worried that Sam had remembered her drunken promise.What should I wear?

Whatever you want. Yoga pants are fine.

I pushed out a sigh of relief. That meant hanging out at a bar was out.Perfect.

There was a moment’s hesitation before she sent,Have you completed your challenge yet?

Bad Luck Club was like Fight Club—we weren’t supposed to talk about it or share its secrets. But Samantha was my best friend, and I didn’t think Bear would want me risking our lifetime of friendship by keeping every little aspect of the club secret. So of course she knew about my challenges. What’s more, she encouraged me to complete them. She was thrilled Bear had challenged me to do something that broke the rules.

No.

I’ve been thinking about it, and I have the perfect solution. Just leave it to me.

---