Page 16 of The One I Hate
“Yes!” I yell. “They suck.”
“Fucking suck bags.”
We both raise our glasses of water, because I’m guessing we’ve been cut off, and cheer to men sucking. Does some spill? Yes. Do we care? Not even a little.
“Wait! Isn’t toasting with water bad luck?”
I waive her off. “I’ve been bad luck most of my life, today included. I didn’t need water for that.”
And that’s no lie. Between having a dad who took off, a single mom who passed away too soon in life, and living paycheck to paycheck, things haven’t been a walk in the park. And every time I think something good is about to happen—BAM!—life sends me the equivalent of a bird shitting on my head.
I go to set the glass of water down when I see my cell phone light up with an incoming call. That’s not what shocks me. It’s the name flashing on the screen.
Speaking of bird shit…
“What the fuck!” I yell, grabbing my phone and holding it closer so I can read it better. Maybe I’m seeing things. How drunk am I that I’m seeing the name “Asshole Banks” flashing on the screen?
“What is it?”
I don’t answer Mellie because I’m stabbing the red button and rejecting the call.
“It was him.”
Mellie gives me a confused look, clearly not realizing who I’m talking about.
“Him!”
“Who’s him?
“Simon!” I scream, waving Max over to get me another shot. I know I shouldn’t, but Simon called me, and I don’t know how to feel about that.
“Why is he calling?”
“I don’t know! It doesn’t make sense. I thought I had him blocked. How did he break through my phone fortress?”
I plead with Max to get me a shot, which he agrees to, before I let my head fall into the bar.
How? Why? What? Huh?
Those are the immediate questions that run through my foggy, tequila-soaked brain.
Is he trying to fuck with me? Make me cry even more? Fight again? He has to have better things to do with his time than mess with me. Then again, annoying the hell out of me used to be his favorite hobby.
“Oh!” Mellie chirps, making me raise my head. “He left a voicemail.”
I stare at the notification on my phone and don’t move. Granted, the room is spinning, but I don’t think I’m moving. I’m just staring at the word “Voicemail,” which looks like it’s in 3-D.
“What did he say?” Mellie tries to grab the phone, but I quickly slap my hand on top of it.
“How would I know?”
“Aren’t we going to listen to it?”
“No. We’re not.”
“What do you meanno? Aren’t you curious?”
Of course I want to know. I want to know why he’s calling. I want to know why he did what he did fifteen years ago. I want to know why that beard looks so good on him.
