Page 78 of Invisible String
We slide in. “Sorry, I went to the cemetery this morning and then had to wait for this one to get dressed.” I point at Bethany. “She takes hours to get dressed. You would think she’s going to a damn ball.”
Lana’s gaze rolls over my sister, and she snorts. “Well, she is dressed like she’s going on a romantic date.”
“She’s used to living in Paris and dressing?—”
“Hello, I’m right here, you two. You both act like I’m wearing a ball gown.”
Lana dips another chip. “We’re at a bar-slash-restaurant. They serve nachos, wings, and burgers. Not ribeye steak.”
Bethany groans. “For fuck’s sake, feed this woman. She’s going feral. And for your information, I’m wearing a silk shirt and slim black pants with heels. How is that fancy?”
“Exactly my point. Do you see anyone dressed up? No.” Lana snickers, waving down at the server. “We’re ready,” she shouts.
Oh, man, she is feral. “How was work?” I ask. Lana’s line of work is stressful as a surgical nurse.
Her sigh is heavy with exhaustion. “Last night was rough. We couldn’t bring a woman back during surgery. Her heart gave out,” she explains, shaking her head. “It wasn’t strong enough.” Her throat works. “The doctor told her husband, and he went into cardiac arrest and died. He couldn’t live without her.”
My heart rips to shreds. How sad. The love they must’ve shared had to have been extraordinary.
“What can I get you, ladies?” the guy asks, hindering us from breaking down into tears.
We give our orders, and he later returns with our drinks. Red Barrel Tavern is alive with people’s chatter and laughter, bustling on this sunny Sunday afternoon. Every corner of the bar features strategically placed TVs that stream sports games and news channels, keeping patrons entertained as they sip their drinks and enjoy each other’s company.
I’m laughing at a story Lana tells us about a date she went on. She calls it a date from hell. My head jolts when I hear the mention of Max on the TV screen. How am I going to get him out of my head when suddenly he’s everywhere?
“Max ‘Lights Out,’ also known as ‘Master of Disaster,’ Cano vs. Patrick ‘Double-decker’ Ferraro will fight before the main event. In the world of boxing, it is rare that the undercard fight garners more attention than the main event. Max has been dominating amateur boxing for the past five years with an unbeatable winning streak, making it difficult for any opponent to defeat him. His winning streak has caught the attention ofmany fighters who are eager to challenge him. Will anyone be able to end his streak?” the sport’s person announces. He must go by a different name in the public eye.
Something in my chest expands. Pride. I’m sure they don’t know about the Underground fights that happened. He has more fights—and a winning streak—under his belt than they know.
“Holy shit balls. Is that him?” my sister asks.
I’d never shown her photos of the mystery man I had been in love with. Her mouth is open.
“Now I really understand, sis. He’s… He’s cute. Like drop dead.” She fans herself. “Don’t tell my boyfriend.” She chuckles.
Lana chimes in, “Damn… Like he was gorgeous that hot summer, and now he’s?—”
“Alright, already.” My iced tea slams on the table harder than I intended. Thank God for plastic cups. Jealousy runs like a drug eating at my insides. Hearing my sister and best friends gawk at my…crush, lover, or whatever he was, is not something I want to hear, especially when he destroyed my heart.
“Sorry,” my sister squeaks. “It’s just like, wow.”
My lips lift into a smile. “I agree.” I do. He’s beautiful.
A few minutes later, our food arrives. It was nice spending time with my sister and Lana. It’s been a while since I shared a meal with my sister.
My phone buzzes with a text message.
Andrew: Hey, sweets. Do you mind if I come over? I have a favor to ask you.
Me: Sure. I’ll be home in an hour.
Andrew: See you then.
I shove my phone back in my purse.
“It was Andrew,” I tell the girls. “He wants to come over to ask for a favor,” I add, dipping my honey barbecue wings in ranch.
“I wonder what he has to say.” She laughs. “He’s not good at picking up on signals. He touched your vagina, and you were dry as a bone.” She laughs even harder.
