Page 89 of Wingwoman
She groaned. “God, no. I don’t think I’ll ever drink again after the bachelorette party.”
Good.
She was clearly exaggerating, but even still, it was dangerous how drunk she’d gotten. Thank God there were so many of us around to get her safely away from fucking Duane.
After a few moments of silence, Hope stared at the unfinished burger still on her plate.
“Don’t tell me you’re going to try and finish that as a way of proving some kind of crazy point?” I asked.
She shook her head, slurping what was left of her Diet Coke. “No. I was just remembering… burgers on the grill was the one food my dad knew how to cook. And cookwell. It’s maybe my favorite memory with him, the nights he’d grill burgers and we’d eat out on the back deck in our bathing suits, ketchup dribbling down my chin and forearms. It was the only time he didn’t care how messy I got when eating. The only time I wouldn’t get in trouble for making a mess or spilling my drink. Because he would take out the hose and we’d wash ourselves off right there in the small backyard before going back inside.”
“That sounds nice,” I said. “I only met your dad for a second, but he seems like a good guy… now.”
“Yeah,” Hope said quietly, poking at the rest of her burger. “I hope so. I hope he doesn’t break Vivian’s heart.”
“Maybe he won’t. Maybe this time he’s really changed.”
“Maybe.” She gave me a flat smile, the fake kind that tries to convey how fine she is without having to say the words.
That smile is a lie.
I saw that smile on my mother’s face every day of my childhood. Every day she had to be married to my asshole father and pretend for our sakes that everything was fine.
Fine.
I hate that word.
I hate that smile.
My fucks-given meter is usually pretty low—even bottoming out at zero most days. That was the problem when you were a celebrity. Everyone needed your help. Every charity needed your money.
Everyone had a sob story.
And most of them were legitimate. But at some point, I had to turn that empathy off.
However, every now and then, someone found a way in.
Guilt sparked in my chest like a piece of flint catching fire. Guilt that I couldn’t do more for every foundation that reached out to me. Guilt that I couldn’t help my mother or even reassure her back when I was a kid and she most needed it. Guilt that I was setting Hope up to potentially be ruined.
I shook the thought away.
No. This wouldn’t be like last time. Hope wasn’t Jenn… and I was going to make sure of it.
I tossed some cash onto the table and stood, the old springs creaking and the vinyl of the booth seats cracking beneath my weight. As I climbed to my feet, I held out my hand for Hope to take. “Come on.”
She looked at my hand curiously. “Where are we going?”
“Our date isn’t over yet.”
She looked down at her unfinished food. “It isn’t?”
I rolled my eyes. “Are you going to repeat everything I say back to me?”
“I don’t know, am I?” she asked, this time her tone mocking its incredulousness. Then, her grin spread fast across her face.
A real smile this time that smacked into me like a heavyweight punch.
“You truly think all I would plan for our first date is a fancy ass meal at a Michelin Star restaurant?”
