Page 25 of The Ground Beneath Our Feet
They all stared at me.
Marie was the first to raise her glass and clink it to mine. “You’re definitely one of us.”
I giggled. Maybe this was what it felt like to unburden yourself. To not carry around so much weight. I immediately felt lighter, even though I’d previously kept my family secrets from everyone but Monica.
But up here in Santa Barbara? No one knew me, and I was starting over.
“I’m sorry about your dad,” Marie continued. “If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”
“Thanks.”
Lucy sipped her juice and threw her pretty hair behind her shoulder. “So are you going to get together with handsome roommate?” She giggled too. “Sorry, I write romance. I’m always matchmaking.”
I shook my head. “No way. Wanna know how I met him?”
Patting her round belly, Lucy sat forward. “Of course.”
“It’s horrifying.”
“Now we really want to know,” said Amelia, who reached up and took her Cosmopolitan from the waitress.
“He was having sex.”
Marie coughed out a laugh. “You walked in on him?”
“I did.”
And now that I said it out loud to total strangers, the whole event didn’t seem as embarrassing as when I’d told Monica. It hadn’t been my fault. It was just my default to blame myself for everything.
“Did you consider joining in?” asked Marie.
My eyes widened. “Uh, no.”
“I’m only teasing you.” And she adopted a more empathetic, serious tone. “You might want to have a talk with him about what hours he’s there and what he is and is not going to do with you in the house.”
I nodded. “Maybe.” I stared at my feet.
“Since he’s hot,” said Marie, “I wonder.”
“Wonder what?”
“Wonder if you’re wishing it were you instead.”
I shook my head. “I’m not into manwhores.” I pointed to my glass. “I’m getting healthy. I have a new job. I don’t need a new boyfriend. Especially not one like that. It’s just awkward because we live together.”
Lucy laughed. “I got together with my next door neighbor, so there’s nothing wrong with close proximity.”
“She and Jake are newlyweds,” said Amelia.
My eyes darted to her belly and the huge ring on her finger. “Congrats!”
I still didn’t think it was a good idea to get together with my roommate.
The waitress delivered an order of French fries to the table, sticking up like a bundle of sticks in a white paper cone resting in a metal holder. Fancy. I’d never seen French fries made that way. Most of the time they just came in a cardboard holder from McDonald’s.
But I wasn’t eating French fries. They’re nothing but fat and salt. Murder to a diet.
I wanted them, though.
