Page 2 of Clause & Effect
Grace gives her husband a flirty smile then does this weird cat purr. Out. Loud. I do my best not to vomit in my mouth. Look, I’m happy for my best friend. I love her more than life. She’s my sister, my mom, my best friend, cheerleader, and sometimes critic all in one gorgeous package—she’s the one that told me to forget about what’s his ball sack face a year ago—she laid it all out there like a road map, telling me exactly how things would go.
She wasn’t wrong.
I hate and love her for it at the same time.
And yes, itstillsucks.
But she didn’t want me to get hurt—Grace is the most protective person I have in my life—like, would do anything for me and hurt anyone that hurts me kind of protective. There’s a part of me that thinks she might have a hit out on him.
Kidding… but not really. She knows people. Her words, not mine.
“It’s hot as Hades in here,” she says before she starts to fan her face like we’re on some exotic island in the Maldives.
“Hot as Hades?”I repeat sarcastically. “The sixteenth century called, and they’d like their words back.”
“Well, they can’t have them,” Grace retorts sarcastically. “Besides, I make them sound better.”
“Champagne?” Devon walks over with two glasses filled to the brim. “I’ll bring the strawberries.”
“Please,” I say as I reach for the glass pretending like this is the most normal thing in the world, you know, just drinking champagne whilst the polar bears frolic, normal. “Thank you.”
“Having fun, Charlie?” He smiles knowingly. “I know how much you love the snow.”
I take a deep sip of the champagne before responding.
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be,” I say the bald-faced lie with a straight face. I’m too good at it these days—the lying part, then again, when you’re surrounded by rich people it’s just as easy if not easier than the truth, prettier at least.
Grace laughs. “Maybe your stateroom on the yacht?”
I look over at her like she’s lost it—maybe she was pre-gaming that expensive champagne without me noticing. Should I be more hurt at her exaggeration or her cheating on me with the bubbly?
I shrug. “That implies I’m used to staterooms… or yachts… or having champagne on a buggy in the arctic for that matter… home in my pajamas seems more fitting.”
Grace smiles at me. She knows it’s true. While I love this sort of life, it’s not totally me. I look like I fit because I make myself fit, I’m a chameleon like that, but it isn’t always comfortable. Sometimes it feels like a sweater that while expensive, is too itchy for my skin.
Slowly, Devon eyes me up and down like he can read my energy or something. “I see staterooms, yachts, and champagne in tundras in your future.”
“Does it come with a soulmate?” I joke taking a gulp of the champagne trying to mask the ever-present knot in my throat. I try not to cry at the thought of what seems like the elusive dream. Soulmate… sometimes I think it’s some type of joke of a word they put in your head when you’re a kid making you just want to chase that elusive fantasy for life. It’s a lot like love, does it even really exist the way I want it to? With a partner? Sometimes I think it's just as made up as the Easter Bunny or Santa Claus and yet the world makes billions off its belief in both—or maybe the wish it was true. Maybe the real money is made off hope which is actually even more depressing when you think about it.
“As if you’d take all that in any other way,” Grace says. Wait what were we talking about?
“If you’re referring to my mother’s piss poor matchmaking skills, you’ve made your point,” Devon says pointedly.
I laugh. Devon’s mom tried to set me up with a seventy-five-year-old billionaire who literally looked as though he had one foot in the grave. The double date with Grace and Devon would live in my memory forever. At least they had amazing bread, and the guy opened my door—I counted it a win.
“Weallknow you’re not marrying a man for his money,” Grace smiles. “That experiment was one I don’t think any of us will ever forget.”
I clink glasses with Grace. “Amen to that!’
Before I can ask for a refill, the captain of our expedition calls out to the group. “Well look at that! A holiday miracle! So rare during this season. It looks like we have another buggy joining us.” Yeah, because most people are home by a cozy fire or decorating a Christmas tree not rubbing shoulders with the wealthy, sipping champagne, and playing chicken with mother nature.
We all stare out the windows into the endless white snow. Sure enough, a buggy twice the size of ours is rolling up right next to us. I must admit, I’m impressed at the bougie looking thing. Huh, I had no idea Bugatti was into ATV making.
“Is that what rich people call a mega buggy?” I ask Devon in a hushed whisper.
He frowns. Is he upset that someone else’s is bigger? He tilts his head and starts to immediately size it up from the slight frown to the slight grind of his teeth. Amazing, no matter how much money they have—all men are the same.
Who has the biggest dick will forever be a man’s quest for the holy grail.
