Page 43 of Treat

“No, I spent my Friday night—the fourth one in a row—at home, working instead of being out somewhere, with someone who finds me attractive, doing something fun. And around 2:45 a.m. it hit me—why? For what? So I can finish my Ph.D.? Who cares?”

“Um, I thought you did?” Brynn ventured.

“So did I,” Amy said. “But why? So I can get a better teaching job?”

Brynn wasn’t sure what to say, but it didn’t seem as though Amy needed her to say anything.

“I don’twanta better teaching job,” she went on. “I like the teaching jobs I have, and I don’t need my doctorate to keep them. So what the hell am I doing?”

“I didn’t know you were so unhappy,” Brynn said when it was her turn to talk.

“Well, I am,” Amy said, “and I’m tired of it. Tired of plodding along in my safe little life, doing the ‘smart’ thing, waiting and hoping that what I want will come to his fucking senses sometime before we’re both old and gray.”

“Um…”

“So I’m not doing it anymore,” Amy declared. I’m done sitting on the sidelines in my own life. I’m going to go after what I want, goddammit, and Isaac Matthew Cates had just better be ready.”

Brynn had about ten thousand questions, but now didn’t feel like the time to ask them. “Atta girl,” she said instead and hoped her brother was taking his vitamins.

“You go after what you want, too,” Amy said. “Fuck what everybody else thinks.”

“Right,” Brynn said, unsure of her ground. Amy was the sensible, logical, responsible friend, and Brynn was the impulsive, irrational one. She wasn’t sure how she felt about this Freaky Friday situation. “Ames, I think you need to get some more sleep.”

“I’m gonna,” Amy said, the words slurred with fatigue. “And then I’m gonna seize the fucking day. Carpe the goddamn diem.”

“Okay,” Brynn said. “You carpe it all to hell. But sleep first, yeah?”

“Uh-huh. Brynn?”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry I bet fifty dollars you wouldn’t be able to keep it in your pants.”

“That’s okay,” Brynn soothed. “I know you meant it as a joke.”

“No, I really didn’t think you could keep from banging him,” Amy said earnestly.

Brynn swallowed a laugh. “Go to sleep, okay? I’m going to have my mom check on you later.”

“Okay. I like your mom.”

“She likes you, too.”

“That’s nice. G’nite.”

“Nite.” Brynn waited until the call disconnected, then checked the time. At this hour Rachel Cates would be busy with children’s story hour at the main branch of the Lenawee District Library, so Brynn fired off a quick text and set her phone down, knowing her mother would be on her friend’s doorstep with food and love as soon as she could get someone to cover the reference desk.

Turning her attention back to her face, she made the necessary repairs to her eyeliner and finished the rest of her makeup with practiced efficiency. Her hair, left down to dry after her shower, was a quick and easy do—since she was wearing her fielder’s cap to the game, her two best options were to wear it down or up in a ponytail that she could pull through the back of the cap. With the temperature predicted to be in the high eighties, she was going with ponytail.

She took care of that, then put on her glasses and crossed to her closet. She’d made a trip to the storage unit in search of the Sparky Anderson jersey but hadn’t been able to dig it up, so she was going with comfort. The sun dress was a creamy peach with narrow spaghetti straps and a flippy, just-above-the-knee skirt that would hopefully help keep her cool. Of course, her thighs were going to sweat no matter what—and also chafe, because that’s what thick thighs do—so she was wearing a pair of moisture-wicking, anti-chafing shorts under the skirt. They were almost the same color as the dress, and also meant she didn’t have to worry about keeping her thighs pressed demurely together (she was going to a baseball game, who gave a shit about demure?). She had a cardigan to drape over hershoulders if the sun managed to penetrate the inch thick layer of sunscreen she’d slathered on, sneakers that would keep her feet comfortable on concrete, and her newly loaded debit card to keep her in beer, popcorn and whatever else she wanted to stuff in her face.

“Take me out to the ballgame,” she declared. Tilly, asleep on the faded beanbag under the window, snored in response.

Hoping she’d stay asleep, Brynn eased the door open and tiptoed down the hall. When she got to the living room without Tilly scrambling after her she relaxed and headed into the kitchen for a drink.

She opened the fridge and grabbed one of the fancy flavored waters she’d splurged on to celebrate her checking account getting out of the red. Lemon blueberry flavored, a case of twelve sixteen-ounce bottles cost thirteen dollars—an unimaginable extravagance just a week ago, now worked easily into her budget. Even knowing it, her heart had given a little lurch seeing the price flash up on the register at the grocery store.

She wondered when that would stop.

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