Page 19 of Third Time Lucky

‘Yes, dear. Life is short. Eat the cake. I like all kinds. Surprise me.’

‘OK.’ I nod, opening the lid on the bottle of water I’d grabbed. ‘I’ll leave it in the fridge for breakfast.’

‘Perfect,’ she says with a smile, still occupied by young hot local chefs.

Yikes, that sounds like an X-rated site that might actually exist. I hope she doesn’t stumble across any. If I have to rid her laptop of porn (again – it’s a long story – computers are hard when you’re elderly – the first time was horrifying enough), I will die.

The last time I had to see a dirty movie, I was wearing a ten-thousand-dollar gown while watching it in front of an audience of hundreds, next to the male lead. That asshole. Thanks to him, every second of that film is burned into my brain in a way that makes me want to stab out my own eyes with a dull pencil each time it crosses my mind. But that is a terrible idea, so instead, I curse him internally and continue smiling outside. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Fake it ’til you make it? I wonder how long that takes to work.

The honk echoing through the living room jolts me from my thoughts.

‘That’s my Uber,’ I say, grabbing my purse and heading out the front door.

‘Make him work for it!’ Mitzi calls after me.

‘Will do!’ I say before closing the door behind me.

I’m such a liar. If she knew it was just me and Madi indulging in an exorbitant amount of alcohol, calories, and gossip, she’d be so upset. Mostly because ever since Vegas (that’s what we call it now, so we don’t say the devil’s name out loud), she’s been insistent that the love of my life is still out there – he has to be because I’m such a sweet girl and I deserve it – her words.

I don’t think I’m as lovely as my family acts like I am. A man defiled my trust and let me believe he was good until the truth was forced out of him in front of everyone we know – that doesn’t happen to sweet girls. Or maybe it only happens to sweet girls? Crap. There’s one more thing for me to worry about. Truthfully, at this point, I’ll probably die a childless cat-lady, and I’m OK with it.

Anyway, Madi and I have plans (and possibly reservations) at Papa Haydn for raspberry lemon drops and the most to-die-for desserts. Their regular food is good too, don’t get me wrong, but the bourbon ball – a tiny chocolate cake soaked in bourbon, glazed with dark chocolate ganache – for real, I’d sell my soul for a dozen.

* * *

‘How are you?’ Madi asks as I approach the table she’s sat at in Papa Haydn.

The building sits on a corner lot, with seating inside and out. People are buzzing around the city streets, soaking up the summer evening at the different restaurants and bars along 23rd Avenue – one of my favorite Portland streets.

Fun fact, it’s also known as the Knob Hill neighborhood, and considering I’m meeting a woman who reminds me of my ex, that’s perfect.

Knob Hill has almost everything you could ever need. Bed sheets worn? There’s a Pottery Barn. Wanna sing karaoke? They’ve got a bar for that. Looking for whatever McMenamins is trending? Check out Ram’s Head. Spill a little sauce on your shirt? Hop into the Urban Outfitters for a new one. Need to replace a lock to keep out an ex? There’s a hardware store. Looking for the best Chinese food in the city (in my opinion)? It’s on 23rd.

‘Just trying to survive my own mind. How about you?’ I ask, sitting across the small bistro table from her.

‘Already ordered our drinks, so I’m about to be great. Any topic off the table tonight?’

‘Just the usual.’

‘Will not mention the dickweed.’ Madi nods, her curly blonde hair bouncing with her movement.

She’s adorable, a total reincarnation of Marilyn Monroe on the outside. It’s uncanny. She has been hired as a Marilyn impersonator at a couple of local piano bars, and I went to see her perform once. If I didn’t know, and Marilyn wasn’t dead, I’d think she was her. She was that convincing, with her wispy voice and gestures.

Madi and I met in college. We had exactly one class together the entire time we were there, and somehow, the friendship stuck. She’s breezy, beautiful, loyal, and when necessary, a complete badass. If I’d have ordered that hit on Brandon like she suggested in Vegas, I don’t doubt she’d have followed through. She’s a great person to be friends with because her attitude is veryc’est la vie. What happens, happens. Everything is fixable. Things will work out. Live life like today is your last day. The opposites attract thing is true for us. After the wedding, she was so terrified that I was going to dump her, too, just for sharing blood with the dickweed. I couldn’t have done that; she didn’t choose her family.

Thankfully, since she and Brandon are only cousins, she doesn’t remind me of him looks-wise. If she did, seeing her would hurt more than it already does. He had us all fooled, including his family, who were upset after Vegas. Rightfully so. They’d already paid for our honeymoon – three weeks in Thailand – which he went on with his brother without a budget. I don’t even want to imagine what went down on that trip. All I know is that he wasn’t murdered or thrown into a dungeon somewhere to rot. Unfortunately, he made it home safe and sound and has been seen around the dating apps my friends use.

‘Ladies,’ a waiter stops at our table, sets our drinks in front of us, and takes our order – which is borderline embarrassing as we each order two desserts, no actual food. ‘I like how you two think,’ the man says before walking to another table.

‘How’s Mitzi today?’ Madi asks.

‘She’s hiring a private chef because, apparently, I need to learn how to cook.’

She laughs. ‘She said that?’

‘No. She said she’s hoping he rubs off on me.’

‘Ooh! That’s dirty and fancy all at once, isn’t it?’

---