Page 15 of Hopelessly Teavoted
Priscilla Hart sat at Vickie’s favorite table, the two-top all the way at the back, farthest from the bar, and yet, Vickie was unsurprised to note that at five past the time they were supposed to meet, she had already commanded a drink.
Like in high school, and the few times Vickie had seen her since, Prissy was clad in all black, hair sleek and shiny and brushing the lapels of a satin blazer with intricate dark green leaves patterned on the breast pocket. Her black slacks were perfectly tailored, and she had traded her combat boots for Louboutins. Vickie couldn’t help but think she was the goth garden version of Andy fromThe Devil Wears Prada, post–Miranda makeover.
Goodness knew there were enough actual devils in Vickie’s life to make such comparisons.
“Vickie,” Prissy said, holding up a hand, her expression inscrutable. “Welcome to my lair.”
“Prissy! It’s so good to see you!” The other woman got up to accept a hug, still holding a tumbler full of amber liquid. “What are you drinking?”
“An alcohol,” Priscilla deadpanned.
“Charming as ever,” said Vickie, picking up the menu off the table and sliding onto the tall chair across from her.
A smile flickered across Prissy’s face. “I ordered you those nachos with the stupid name. They look terrible, like heartburn in a starship-shaped pan, but I love you, so I ordered them anyway.” She took a long drink from her tumbler. The corners of her mouth ticked upward. “Also, it’s good to see you on non–tea shop and apartment business.”
Vickie sighed with relief at the thought of the food. It would be nice to eat something that wasn’t from a package or baked in her shop. Even if she really ought to save money.
“It’s good to see you, too, Prissy. Where’s your girl?”
Prissy’s eyebrows furrowed for a moment. “Council business. She’s very serious.”
“Yeah?” Victoria wasn’t sure if this was a good thing.
“She is extremely dedicated to her job,” said Priscilla, her face breaking into a smile. A good thing, then. “But she’s also hot and posh, and devil damn me, that British accent.”
“You love to hear a British accent.”
“Goddess, you really do,” sighed Priscilla, looking a bit wistful.
“Are you ready to order?” A man in a Wookiee T-shirt and an apron approached their table with tremendous caution, giving Prissy a wide berth, as though she might bite.
“I’ll have a Greedo Mojito.” Vickie scanned the menu. “And a Burger Fett.”
“And you?” He didn’t quite make eye contact with Priscilla.
“I’ll have another whiskey lemonade,” she said.
“Do you mean a Ha—”
“I most certainly do not,Daniel.” She glared at him, cat eyes sharp enough to kill.
“Sure, sure thing,” he said, half running back to the computer at the bar.
Vickie laughed. “What did you do to him?”
“I was perfectly nice; I just told him that I would not be calling my drink a Han Solo What a Man Solo all night. I have dignity, you know.” As if to emphasize it, she checked her lipstick in the camera of her phone, nodding satisfactorily whenshe saw that the dark red had not smudged. “Never could get Mom’s lipstick spell right,” she said, and the undertone of it made Vickie reach for her hand.
“Hey. I’m so sorry.”
Prissy shrugged, her face dropping for a moment. “It’s not as bad anymore. I mean, it’s still bad, but it’s tolerable. The grief. The lipstick, on the other hand, even if it’s not exactly the way she did it, is damn near perfect.”
“I miss them too.” Vickie’s heart ached for the loss of Benedict and Persephone. The parents she’d never had and the pain over the parents she did have swam together, and for a moment, she was lost in thought. The scent of mint reminded her of the conservatory.
“Greedo Mojito and Less Than Twelve Parsecs Nachos,” Daniel said brightly. He turned to Prissy and added apologetically, “It just means twelve toppings.”
“It’s okay. I won’t bite.”
He looked unconvinced but somewhat relieved, and returned with Prissy’s drink before heading back to the increasingly busy bar.
