Page 74 of Pity Party

After getting home, I take a quick shower before changing into a pair of pressed khakis and a light blue button-down. Then I get busy packing a bag for Sammy. My excitement for my daughter making friends overshadows my worries. Especially after meeting Terra. Any parent who requires meeting me before a sleepover is my kind of parent.

On the way to pick up Melissa, I stop off at the liquor store and buy a couple bottles of wine. On impulse, I pick up two bouquets of flowers at the outdoor market on the way back to my car.

By the time I get to Melissa’s apartment, she’s standing on the curb out front. I unroll the passenger side window and ask, “Am I late?”

“No, but I was ready, so I didn’t see the point in making you come get me.”

She’s wearing one of the new dresses she bought last weekend when we took Sammy shopping. It’s a citron green number with a form-fitting top that cinches at the waist before flaring out into a full skirt. She looks absolutely gorgeous.

“I brought you flowers, though. They’ll wilt if you don’t get them into water.”

“Why did you bring me flowers?” She sounds like she would be less shocked if I bought her a bouquet of live eels.

“Why not?” I ask. “Friends can buy friends things.”

“But flowers?”

“I got some for Terra as well, and I’m clearly not making a move on her.” I hold up a cellophane-wrapped bundle and hand it out the window to her.

After taking them, she declares, “I love Veronica. They last forever, too. The last bunch I got lasted for three weeks.”

“Do you want me to come up with you while you put them in water?” I ask.

“No,” she practically hisses before turning around. “I’ll be right back.”

I watch as she punches her security code into the pad by the door that leads to her apartment. Her skirt flows around her like she’s dancing a waltz. I’m still lost in my thoughts of appreciation as she comes flying back out only minutes later. When she gets into the car, she hands me a sandwich-sized bag with a handful of walnuts in it.

“What’s this for?”

“It’s for you,” she says.

“Why are you giving me walnuts?”

“Why did you give me flowers?” she retaliates.

“You gave me walnuts because I gave you flowers?” I don’t quite fathom her reasoning.

“I didn’t have anything else,” she says. As I put the car into gear and pull away from the curb, she adds, “It was that or a box of Special K cereal. But the cereal had already been opened so that felt like an odd choice.”

I’m about to assure her it would be no weirder than a bag of walnuts, but I don’t want to hurt her feelings. “Thank you,” I tell her. “I’ll cherish them.”

“You don’t have to be sarcastic.”

“And you don’t have to even the score every time I give you something,” I tell her.

Out of the corner of my eye, I watch as she closes herself off as she crosses her arms across her chest. “Then don’t give me things.”

“If one of your other friends gave you flowers,” I ask, “would you accept them?”

“Yes.”

“I thought we decided today that we were going to be friends,” I tell her.

“I’ve never kissed one of my other friends the way I kissed you.”

“Yes, but that’s all water under the bridge.” I clearly don’t mean that, as kissing Melissa is the only thing I can think of. But given the conversation, I can’t tell her that.

On impulse, I pull over to the side of the road and park the car parallel to a playground. “I have an idea.”

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