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“No!” Penny’s gasp rings in my ears like the validation I so desperately require.
I let my lip jut. “It’s true. He said, and I quote, ‘Why do you need that bucket of rocks?’”
While I was curled up in my throw blanket. Like a traumatized creature. Hugging my bucket of rocks and ambling to my car.
I will not specify that his tone was wholly curious and entirely friendly.
Because when isn’t it?
Brigid in all her good sense drawls, “Why did you need the bucket of penguin pebbles? There were literal cops outside. Your awful neighbors were firing guns. Your penguin friends would have graciously understood leaving their pebbles behind until the next day.”
I scowl at Brigid. “You have lost your way.”
Pushing her wet, straight black hair over her shoulder, she says, “At least I don’t get drunk and fill out marriage candidate tests.”
“Yeah. Because you don’t have to. Because someone already introduced you to your husband.” It was me. I did it. “If only I’d had that same courtesy provided me. By my so-called penguin friends.”
Penny, halfway through a second martini, which I think was supposed to be mine, says, “Girls, girls. Please don’t quarrel. Remember, one of us has neither husband nor billionaire boyfriend who wants to give her his credit card.”
Brigid pats Penny’s swim cap. “Perspective. You’re right. At least we aren’t sad like you. Have a strawberry.”
While Penny nibbles on the offered strawberry, I sag underwater and blow bubbles until I am completely out of air. Without full lungs, I’ve sunk against the bumps of the stairs. And before my heart starts to starve, I convince myself I could live on the pool floor forever. There’s a peace in the sensory deprivation of it.
Once my organs are crying and rioting against their evil dictator, I plunge into the air and push water off my face.
“Oh good,” Brigid says. “I thought we were about to witness a second suicide in your family.”
“First attempts rarely bear fruit.” I fold my arms. “Bold of you to assume the odds aren’t stacked against me.”
Endearingly gentle, Penny smiles. “We came up with a brilliant plan while you were contemplating mortality.”
I arch a brow.
“It’s simple, really.” Brigid plucks a cube of sweating cheese off the treat platter and brings it to her lips. “Accept it if you dare.”
I’m daring sometimes. On the weekends, usually.
And, wouldn’t you know, it’s the first Sunday of September…
“Okay. Hit me. What devious plot have you two concocted?”
The grins they throw each other do not inspire much confidence at all.
Chapter 11
Not to be dramatic, but pickaxes your crops.
– Marcella
Let the records show, I am against this.
Completely and utterly against this.
“I swear to—” I curse. “—if you try to give me that bouquet one more time, Marshipan…” Furiously, I decline Marshipan’s gift on Stardew Valley. The gall of him to desecrate this sacred space by acting like this. I can’t believe I took my stupid friends’ stupid advice last Sunday to let him play with us—purely for research purposes. In a matter of hours, he’s wriggled his way into my friend group like an evil worm. If I saw him on the sidewalk on a sunny day, I’d step on him. “And you—” I hiss at my giggling mansion-mate, who is seated on the couch across from me in the massive central living room. “—if you tell him anything else, I’m rage quitting this farm. If he wants to play Stardew Valley with us, it’s his duty to read the Wiki like a proper noob.”
“Eventually, your finger will slip and you’ll click yes.” F-man’s low voice hums through my headphones, taunting and wicked.
“Technically,” Brigid begins in a tone that puts me on edge, “accepting the bouquet means you’re girlfriend and boyfriend. Aren’t you under contract to be girlfriend and boyfriend, Marci?”
