I nod slowly, like something should become clear, and hope that a big fat unicorn will jump out of a rainbow that formed in the dark clouds that hang over my head. “We deserve a unicorn.”
“I know what you mean, and I’m not even gay.”
“You’re brain damaged, like me.”
“Fucking unicorns.” He glances at me and we both start laughing. It’s that sleepy giggly laugh that is difficult to stop. When we do, we’re both on our own pillows, staring up at the ceiling. “So, are you going to make yourself more miserable, like me?”
“Probably, but I need you to be more specific.”
“Are you going after him?”
I’m quiet for a moment, even though I already know the answer. Saying out loud that I’m going after Sean makes it real, admitting it to someone sets the concept in stone. I’m stepping into a pair of cement shoes and jumping off a bridge, willingly.
“Yeah, I have to see this through. I’ll get down on one knee, hold up a ring, and shut my mouth until he answers me.” I laugh, “You know, I don’t think I can take any more stress. It feels like my life is held together with cobweb string. If things don’t go well, I don’t know how I’ll get over it.”
“Mel and me are here, Avery. We always will be, and if I ever run into Henry Thomas on the street, he better run the other way. Ditto for Mel. She described what she’d do to that bastard and it’s not pretty. That woman is scary.”
CHAPTER 3
Isolation is a weird thing. I’m not sure how it happened. It kind of snuck up on me after I lost my parents. My childhood friends faded to acquaintances and then fell into the shadows of my past. I have no desire to bring them back, either. People that are only there during the good times suck. I’ve had enough leeches in my life, and I’m grateful for the friends I have now. It hasn’t escaped my notice that the people that I like the most are the kind that have been beaten by this life and didn’t lie down, face first, in the dust. We gravitate toward one another. Maybe no one has an ordinary life, but since that’s what I’m striving for, I’d rather not think about it. Chasing something that doesn’t exist would completely suck.
I can imagine bringing Mel home to meet my Mom. First off, no one ever forgets meeting Mel. She’s all personality in a mocha-skinned body with killer curves. It’s hard not to notice how striking she is when the woman is standing in front of you. I think Mom would have liked her. Mel fights for what she wants and encourages me to do the same.
Right now we’re standing in a jewelry store and I have a goofy smile on my face with bags under my eyes.
“He better appreciate this shit.” Mel is crouched over a ring case, her eyes scanning diamonds, gold, and platinum for something that has an antique feel.
“I should probably just get a plain band. He’s going to say no anyway.”
Her gaze flicks up and her caramel eyes give me the you-crazy once over. “What are you going to do if he says yes?” She folds her arms across her chest and leans her hip into the case.
I start to open my mouth when a sales girl walks over. She’s wearing a perfectly pale pink suit and is cute as a button. Mel’s going to eat her—uh, like a lion, not a hooker. Perky chick says, “My name is Tiffany and I—”
Mel tilts her head to the side like she’s annoyed and doesn’t even look at the woman. “Listen, Stepford Psycho, we aren’t going to take any crap, or hard sales, or whatever you have planned up there in your little plastic head, so walk away and if we find something to buy, I’ll snap my fingers and you will pounce over like a good little bitch because you work on commission.”
The sales girl’s face falls, her mouth gaping open in horror. She’s momentarily stunned, so Mel snaps her fingers. “Hear that?” The girl nods. “Good, now go over there until I call you. Go on. Scat. That’s a good girl.”
Tiffany’s super pink pouty lips repress a sneer as she walks away. I glance at Mel. “Do you have to be so mean?”
“She’s a bitch. Fake people deserve to be treated like they’re made of tin—or plastic. I recycle, it’s okay. Besides, you know how I feel about robots.” She cringes and shakes her head. The expression on her face is reminiscent of the second before a woman realizes there’s a spider crawling across her lips and into her mouth.
Strumming my fingers across the top of the glass case, I say, “Yes, I know you hate robots—”
“The fuckers are everywhere. If there’s going to be an apocalypse, it’s going to be from that bitch inside my phone—”