Page 28 of My So-Called Perfect Life
Amelia getsto my place in under twenty minutes with a paper bag in each hand. A small white one from the pharmacy in one and a brown paper bag from the liquor store in the other.
“What’s the crisis?” she huffs, slightly out of breath, as if she hustled her ass to get here.
“Your sister has chlamydia.”
Her face goes blank for a moment before she lets out the most obnoxious cackle ever.
What a bitch! Who laughs at that?
“What the hell, Amelia?”
She shakes her head as she continues laughing. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it. You, out of all of us, are the one with the STD. You can’t tell me that’s not hilarious.”
I snatch the bag out of her hand. “Give me my medicine, you whore.”
“Whore?” She laughs harder. “My vagina is disease-free, Dani dear.”
“Shut up!”
“I better start pouring those drinks before Dani decks you, Ams. You could’ve waited a bit before starting the joking, no?”
“Oh, please.” She places the brown paper bag on the counter, and I hear the bottles clink. “It’s not like it’s herpes. After some antibiotics, you’ll be fine.”
Mercy shrugs. “I mean, she’s kind of right. It happens more often than you’d think. Oooh … remember when that baseball player spread gonorrhea through, like, four sororities senior year of college?”
“One of my floormates got chlamydia three times our sophomore year,” Amelia adds.
“None of that is making me feel better. I’m a kindergarten teacher, for Christ’s sake. I can’t have freaking chlamydia.”
I wash the pill down with half a bottle of water before placing three glasses out on the counter.
“Start pouring.” I glare at Mercy.
She fills each of the glasses with about a half-inch of whiskey and tops it off with some Coke.
Amelia sniffs the drink and scrunches up her nose before taking a sip. “You know,” she says, “one good thing about Scott being a dipshit is that we haven’t spent this much time drinking with you since college. Only I hate Jack. Some Fireball would be good right about now.”
“I’m so glad you’re finding a silver-lining in the wreckage of my life.” I shake my head. “Fireball is nasty. It burns the hell out of my throat.”
Mercy snorts. Obnoxiously. “Your throat can match the burning in your fire crotch.”
The two traitors yak it up at my expense, and I want to punch them both.
Gripping my glass tight enough to break it, I scowl. “In case you forgot, I’m not opposed to punching people these days. Or finding new friends.”
“I’m your sister.” Amelia laughs. “You can’t trade me in.”
“No, but I can ignore you and have the locks to my apartment changed. Or better yet, tell Mom and Dad all about the men you find on the internet and meet. They’ll never leave your side, and you won’t get laid again.”
My parents are terrified of all those online dating apps. My mother is constantly telling us about stories she’s read about women who were abducted and never seen again after meeting people they found online. She also loves her crime dramas, her favorite beingLaw & Order: SVU, which only amplifies her fear of online dating in the city. No matter how many times we tell her those are just made-for-TV stories, she counters with, “The stories are, ‘Ripped from the headlines.’ They say so on the commercial. They wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true.”
She gasps. “You wouldn’t?”
I smirk. “In a heartbeat.”
“All right,” Mercy interrupts, “Settle down. How are we going to get revenge on Scott for this? Flaming bag of dog shit? Cover his door in biohazard tape? What?”
Not happening. No chance. “I’m not going near that man with a ten-foot pole. I don’t want to add an arrest record to my list of accomplishments, which already has too many things being added to it. If I see his stupid face, I might claw his damn eyes out and then kick him in his filthy dick again.”
