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Baylor: I’m guessing you’ll have your hands full?
Disappointment tugs with both hands on my breastbone.
Me: Epic girl time is imminent. Movies ordered. Junk food acquired. Dart board w/Henry’s pic attached is being hung at this moment.
Baylor: Lol. I guess I’ll be seeing you in class then.
Me: That’s probably a good guess. 00 Sorry.
Baylor: I’ll console myself by hugging the pillow you slept on. Maybe the guys will come over & watch Snakes on a Plane with me. Sigh...
Me: Funny.
Baylor: 00 I’d call you at some point, but I want to live.
Me: I knew you were smarter than you look.
Baylor: See you, Jones.
Me: Later, Baylor.
Damn, I already miss him. An age-old panic tries to claw its way up my chest. Exposure. I feel it rip through my skin, and I rub the backs of my arms to prevent it from spreading further. It’s just habit. Everything is fine. Everything is wonderful.
Iris shuffles back into the living room, her damp hair spreading wet spots on her Bieber shirt. His goofy, clean-teen smile mocks me. But Iris seems diminished, her shoulders curling in on themselves. I shove my phone into my purse and meet Iris on the couch to give her a big hug.
“I’m sorry, ’Ris.” I kiss the top her head.
“Yeah, me too.”
One tray of brownies and five Kahlúa and vodkas later, Iris and I have watched The Hangover (1, 2, and 3), Bridesmaids, and Wedding Crashers. When we realized the unfortunate wedding-based theme running through our DVD selections, we moved on to a TV rerun of Die Hard. Not that it helps.
When Bruce kisses his wife at the end of the movie, Iris throws a chip at the TV.
“God,” snarls Iris from her sprawl on the couch, “is there any movie that does not have a romantic element in it?” She flops a pillow over her head and groans.
I’m not feeling much better, having consumed my weight in sugar. I ease to a sitting position, the room spinning slightly. “’Fraid not, butter bean.”
She lifts the corner of her pillow and her dark eyes narrow. “Butter bean?”
We stare at each other for a moment before bursting out laughing.
“He wasn’t even that great in bed,” Iris says between chortles.
I don’t want to know. But Iris is in a sharing mood. “Had like one mode. Fast, jerky, and oblivious. I swear to God, there were times my teeth would rattle.”
“Iris!”
She glances at me with an evil grin. “It’s true! He was like a wind-up fuck toy, you know? All...” Sticking her lip under her teeth, she bobbles her head as she thrusts her hips in rapid fashion.
We both laugh then, giddy giggles that are designed to drive out Iris’s pain. But it only makes the room spin faster. Our laughter dies down on a gurgle, Iris’s or mine, I can’t tell.
“You know what the worst thing is?” Iris says to the ceiling. Her voice is suddenly somber, strained.
“What?”
“I knew he was cheating. I swear, I knew.” Her nose reddens. “I just made myself believe it didn’t matter. Shit, I am such a fool.”
I turn to my side to fully face her. “You just wanted it to be okay. And he’s the fool, not you.”
