Page 31 of For The Weekend
“Awesome. You’re amazing. Thanks so much.” I point at my own side while tipping my chin toward hers. “This is gonna look great, by the way. Sloane’s the absolute best.” Then I grab a chair and roll up beside the table and officially introduce myself. “I’m Eloise. I own Sweet Cheeks.”
“I love Sweet Cheeks.”
“Do you? Come over when you’re done today. I’ll give you a free treat for letting me interrupt your appointment.”
“That’s really kind of you. Thank you.”
I wave. “The least I can do. What’s your name?”
Sloane sighs, having lived through my soliloquies for fifteen years. I ignore her, legs crossed, chin in my hand, waiting for my new friend’s name.
“April.”
“April, it’s lovely to meet you. My mother is the worst.”
April laughs and then cringes in pain.
Sloane spares a quick glare at me, and I apologize with a shrug. “She is.”
Sloane snorts. “I know.”
“Worse than my mom?” April asks, entering the game.
“What did she do?”
“Tells me I don’t need therapy or medication. Just a cup of tea and a good night’s sleep.”
I shake my head, laughing. “And they wonder why we need therapy.”
But I suddenly stop laughing because it’s reallynotfunny. Except, if we don’t laugh about how our mothers are hurting us, intentionally or not, we’d most likely not be able to roll out of bed in the mornings. I tell April, “My mother and my aunt havebeen in this never-ending death-match competition, and that’s spilled down to me and my cousin.”
April listens as I explain how Lily and I have never gotten along because of our mothers and how my mom puts so much pressure on me to live up to whatever stupid standards Lily’s mother has placed on her and, therefore, me. I go on and on about what it was like when they’d dress Lily and me up the same at holidays and how my mother constantly compares us.Why couldn’t I go to a better college like Lily? Why don’t I have nice hair like Lily? Why don’t I try to dress like Lily? Wear clothes to make me look skinnier like Lily? Why can’t I find a boyfriend? Lily’s been with her guy for years. Why am I wasting the best years of my life?
I roll the pendant on my necklace between my fingers, my gaze focused on the photo Sloane has taped up on the wall of Micah and Livie. Sloane’s an amazing mom, and those kids are so lucky to have her.
“My mom was trying to convince me to take this psychopath to the wedding. I mean, maybe he’s not an actual psychopath, but I used to babysit this kid, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he killed a few cats back then or something. And she wouldn’t leave it alone, so I told her I had a boyfriend and was bringing him to the wedding.”
April gasps, and Sloane’s tattoo gun pauses.
“I don’t know what came over me. The holy spirit, a demon, I don’t know, butnowI have to find a boyfriend by the wedding. Actually!” I throw myself over, bending in half, remembering. “I have the shower this weekend. I’m gonna have to have pictures or something to prove it.” I heave myself back up, moaning, “What did I do?”
And that’s when I see him.
Roman, The Beautiful Refrigerator, Stone standing by the entrance of Stone Ink.
I force myself to my feet, stuck somewhere between laughing and crying in misery, and meet him halfway. “Tell me you just walked in and didn’t hear anything I said for the last five minutes.”
He shakes his head. I hang mine. “Clara told me I had to come quick for some emergency here.”
Since Clara is nowhere to be found, I can assumeIam the emergency. Sloane makes the same guess and says, “No emergency. Not a life-threatening one, at least. I’m the only one here right now, so if you two want to…”
She tips her head toward the windows, silently directing us to take it outside, and I remind April of my promise of a free cinnamon bun then shuffle out to the sidewalk with Roman at my heels. He towers over me, blocking out the sun. His eyes are so dark they’re almost black, brows slashed down. But when he grips my chin between his thumb and forefinger, there is nothing but tenderness underneath the thrumming current of tension coming off him. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say, but he shakes his head again.
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not?—”
