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We continue to drink while we discuss the fictional boys of Gilmore Girls. On our third glasses, we decide it’s time to start unpacking.
Charlotte nudges me with her shoulder. “Have you talked to Joe?”
I shake my head. “But he still calls and texts. The man is persistent, I’ll give him that.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what happened with you guys?”
The hurt in her eyes pulls at the guilt in my stomach, which is now sloshing around in a sea of wine. My defenses are weakened. I guess it’s time to tell her. So I stare up at the ceiling and tell her everything.
Charlotte gasps when I finish. “You were pregnant?”
The news shocks Mallory into silence, a feat in itself.
“I was, for two and a half months.”
Charlotte flings her arms around my shoulders, sniffling in my hair. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me.”
“It’s not your fault. You were busy being kidnapped by psychopaths.”
“That piece of shit broke up with you because you were pregnant? That douchebag deserves to have his balls cut off!” And Mal’s back.
“That’s why you moved here,” Charlotte says. “To get away.”
I nod and gulp down the remainder of my wine. “I planned our future for over four years. It was the only plan I had. Starting over in a new place just made sense. Plan A didn’t work out, so I had to come up with Plan B.” Pain slices through my chest. Where the hell is TJ?
“My sister had a miscarriage in between my niece and nephew. She cried for a long time. Didn’t get out of bed for a month.” Mallory pours more wine into my glass, finishing off the bottle. “It’s heart-wrenching when you lose a baby like that.”
“How did she get through it?”
“Time.”
I face-plant into a pillow and groan.
“Everything happens for a reason,” Charlotte says. She rubs her hand in small circles on my back. “I know it’s cliché, but it’s true. It’s God’s way of telling you that Joe wasn’t the right one for you.”
“Couldn’t God have sent me a postcard instead?” I mutter.
Mallory clears her throat. “Dear Carla, Greetings from Heaven. Joe is a smelly asshole. I’m gonna need you to break up with him. I’ll send you someone else soon. XOXO God.”
I chuckle, pushing off the pillow to sit up. “What about you, Mal? How’s your love life?”
Charlotte pokes her ribs. “Yeah, whatever happened with that guy who gave you his number at the bakery the other night?”
Mallory grimaces and covers her eyes with her hands. “He sent me a dick pic!”
Charlotte and I groan in unison.
“Are you kidding me? Sal? The guy who comes in every night to get a coffee and flirt with you?”
Mal nods. “Yup. Him. Want to see his penis?”
“No!” we shout.
“You know, I don’t understand men. You want to get a girl to like you? Don’t send a dick pic. I already know you have a dick. I don’t need to see a picture of it. What they should send is a picture of them cooking dinner. Washing the dishes. Doing laundry. Or even a pic of them doing their taxes. Something useful. Something that will show me you are a functional human being who’s capable of taking care of himself.”
“Yes!” I high-five her. “We should start our own dating app. Forget Tinder.”
Mallory’s eyes light up. “That’s actually an awesome idea.”
