Page 3 of Say Yes to the Hot Mess

“Has he—” But Sam cuts off as Carter reaches for her face. “What are you doing?” she says, turning her head to him.

“Eyelash,” he responds, and I watch as he manages to swipe an invisible-to-me eyelash onto his finger, holding it in front of Sam’s mouth. “Here, make a wish.” His voice is husky in a way that makes me feel very awkward.

Sam looks at the eyelash, and then she closes her eyes. A second later, she blows on Carter’s finger.

“Got it,” he says. Then he grins at her. “What did you wish for?”

The smile she gives him makes me very certain I donotwant to know the answer. I feel a pang of loneliness as I watch them, so wrapped up in each other, so in love. It’s downright uncomfortable to see all that prolonged eye contact. I feel like I’m intruding on a very private moment.

“So, hey,” Sam says after a few seconds, and I feel a wave of relief when she looks back to me. I’m not sure I can handle a video call full of their dreamy smiles and knowing grins. “If theoretically we had some news about Chad, would you want to know?”

I shake my head, trying not to smile at Sam’s use of the word “Chad.” She never would call my ex-fiancé by his actual name; for some reason she decided he was going to be called Chad, and that was that.

“Uh, I don’t know,” I admit. “What kind of news?” Then, frowning, I add, “He’s—I mean, he’s still alive, right?”

“Oh, of course!” Sam says quickly. “Of course.”

Good, because he owes me child support for the next eighteen years. And because yes, we may not be together anymore, but I still don’t want him todie.

“Sure, then,” I say with a shrug. “What about him?”

Sam and Carter give each other a look so quick I might be imagining it.

“We saw him at Joey’s,” Carter says after an awkward pause. “With—with that girl. Yolanda, I think? They were pretty clearly…you know. Still together. Romantically.”

“Huh.” I digest this for a second. It’s not surprising, I guess—any of it. Joey’s Bar and Grill is Chet’s favorite place to eat, and he even used to work there. So did I, for that matter. And as for Yolanda—well, I never imagined Chet would pine for me. He wanted our marriage to be an open marriage so that he could continue to be with other women. That pretty much says it all.

“You know,” I say slowly, examining the twinge of regret in my chest. “In the future…maybe I don’t really want to know.”

It’s not that I’m still hung up on him, because I’m truly not. But when I think about Chet, I think about our relationship, and I don’t love that. I don’t love who I was with him, or how blind I let myself be, how indecisive I was. I refused to see what was right in front of me, and that makes me angry at myself. I stupidly thought the stars had blessed our union, but there was nothing blessed about it.

I rely on the stars significantly less these days. The only destiny I can count on is the one I make myself—having Archer made me realize that. I’m not going to trust the fate of my child to anything other than my own two hands.

Sam nods, looking at me with understanding. “Okay, that’s fine,” she says. “We won’t bring him up.”

“Thanks,” I say with a sigh of relief.

“We have other things to talk about, anyway,” Carter says cheerfully. “Like you, and the fact that my dad says you’re not making friends.”

I groan. “Not you, too,” I say to him.

Uncle Frank has been encouraging me to get out and meet some people—the big hypocrite. Hehatesmeeting people. He’d spend all day fishing in silence if he could. And what am I supposed to do, anyway? I live in a retirement community. It’s not like the place is teeming with people my age. I don’t even have anyone living in the other unit of my duplex.

“What?” Carter says with a shrug. “I just think that it would be good for you to socialize.”

“I love hearing your advice, but…whatyouthink would be good for me isn’t necessarily relevant,” I say gently, mostly because last time Carter did what he thought was best for me, he tried to stop my wedding.

Of course, he was right that time. And maybe he and Uncle Frank are right this time too, but it’s not like me and Archer can go hit up the clubs or something.

“Besides, I have friends,” I say.

Carter raises his brow at me, the motion a pixelated jump.

“Fine.Afriend,” I admit. “I have one friend. She works janitorial in the community center.” Scarlett and I met after I moved in, when I went up to the community center for the first time. She was emptying garbage cans, and strangely enough, I wanted to be just like her. Not the part about the garbage cans—the part where she was completely unembarrassed and unapologetic about a job that many people would deem undesirable. She just owned her life exactly the way it was. We hit it off immediately.

“Is this your internet friend?” Sam says, wiggling her brows.

And crap on a cracker, Carter straightens up like one of those prairie dogs poking out of its burrow. “What internet friend?”

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