Page 53 of Who's Your Daddy?

Tori takes the phone from her, scrolling through the dozens of pictures I’ve taken. “You take the most incredible pics. Even with this fluorescent lighting, you’ve made her look...radiant.”

“Bitch, Iamradiant,” Shontelle snaps playfully, drawing a laugh out of all of us.

“I’m serious, darlin’,” Tori continues. “My fiancélovesthe pictures you took of me on Tuesday.”

Tori sounds exactly like Dolly Parton, and I hate it. Not her accent but what it reminds me of. I once made a comment about how much I love Whitney Houston and the songI Will Always Love You, and Peter schooled me on who the original artist was. He then made me listen to the Dolly Parton version, and I became an instant fan.

I miss that about him, how passionate he was about movies and music. I miss having those golden oldies playing in the background at all hours of the day. I got used to living with him so quickly because he made me feel safe and always made sure I was comfortable.

His house became sort of a sanctuary for me because it sheltered me from all my other troubles, but it was Peter’s presence that put me most at ease. In two short weeks, I became so accustomed to having him around all the time. Apart from the few hours he’d go to the gym with Scott and Dylan, we were togetherallthe time. And now my days feel empty without him, like something is missing.

It’s him.

I’mmissinghim.

I push his stupid face out of my head and focus on the conversation. “It’s just the angle of the pose mixed with a little makeup.”

“But the poses and the angles are what make ‘em so great.” She whips out her phone. “See this one here where you blurred out the background and focused on my jaw and neck. Oh, and this one where you told me to look off into the distance. He loves this one. He says he wants one like this at our—” She gasps, her eyes widening as if she just realized something. “Hey, I’m gettin’ married next year September, and we can’t afford one of those fancy photographers. Would you...would you be our photographer?”

“What?” I giggle, the sound carrying my disbelief. “You barely know me. I can’t come to your wedding and take pictures...of you and your family. That’s so personal.”

Shontelle facepalms. “Why are you like this? You’re so anti-social.”

“I prefer the term introverted,” I correct.

“No, introverted just means shy. I think even anti-social is being too generous. Every day we invite you to join us after work, and every day you think of some excuse not to.”

I don’t even bat an eyelid because I expected that from Shontelle. She never pulls any punches and just says it how it is. Tori, on the other hand, is borderline ditsy, but when coupled with that thick Southern accent of hers, it comes across as cute. She’s the sweeter one out of the two of them, always stepping in to soften the blow or sugarcoat some of the abrasiveness Shontelle flings at me. But she doesn’t do that today. Instead, they both look at me, waiting for an answer.

This is so awkward, and it’s better to be truthful. “You guys have your little circle of friends, and I don’t want to intrude on that.”

“Inviting you means we’re trying to include you in our circle,” Shontelle fires back, flicking her faux locs over her shoulder. “But it’s like you’re purposely trying to stop us from getting to know you on a personal level. It’s like you’re...you’re ...”

“Emotionally castrated,” Rafael fills in.

I glance back and see Rafael, the assistant manager, walking down the aisle to the open area where all the cosmetics are displayed. He is the third member of their little circle of friends and probably the most persistent. His pushiness bothers me sometimes, but I overlook it because I know it’s coming from a good place.

He was the first one to spot that something was weird with me. I haven’t opened up to him about a single thing, but he told me earlier this week that he can see I’m going through something and offered me a shoulder to cry on if I ever needed it.

I need one, alright. But I’m just going to avoid all men until further notice. It’s a pity, though. Rafael is such a nice guy, kind and compassionate with a charming sort of aloofness. He’s also very good-looking, and his baby-boy features are complemented by his curly black locks, playful brown eyes, and smooth olive skin. He’s exactly the type of guy I’ve been looking for all this time. But all prospects to settle down with a good, decent man are dead in the water because I’ve gone and fucked up my life.

It's for the better, I tell myself. I need a break from guys, anyway. Me and relationships don’t seem to be vibing on the same wavelength. I used to be the kind of person who was all in on the fairytale. I was just waiting for my Prince Charming to swoop in and rescue me from all my troubles. That dream is officially dead because the last time I sought comfort and safety in the arms of a man, my problems got exponentially worse. But I’ve learned my lesson and developed an immunity to alluring green eyes.

“I’m not that bad,” I say with a vague smile.

“I can prove you wrong,” he replies, a challenge gleaming in his eyes.

“How?”

“Come out with us after work today.”

I let out a heavy sigh. This is the persistence that grinds me sometimes. He’s already asked me twice today to join them for drinks later, and I said no both times. I just want to curl into a ball in my ugly motel room, wallow in a bit of self-pity, throw up a little, then cry myself to sleep. I’m feeling generous today, so I might even throw in some self-loathing. I’m still deciding.

But what I don’t want to do is be around overly chipper people who ask way too many questions about my personal life. I like them, yes. But they don’t need to know that my life is a royal shit show right now.

“Um...I have to do...laundry today, so—”

Shontelle cuts me right off. “Girl, you cappin’.”

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