Page 11 of Make My Heart Malt

“Either way, this is more interesting than my life.” She wraps her arms around me in a hug, then grabs her purse.

When the front door closes behind her, I rest my elbows on the counter and pick up another cracker, shoving it in my mouth. I guess I’ll stop being a miserable piece of shit and be productive.

An hour later, I’m stepping out of the shower feeling semi-human, at least human enough to go out in public. I haphazardly twist my hair into a messy bun, slide into a pair of black leggings, and shove an oversize hoodie over my head. It’s not my worst ensemble, but definitely not my best. I apply a light dusting of make-up to at least disguise the bags under my eyes and avoid scaring small children at the grocery store. Saturday mornings are my favorite time to shop. There’s always fewer people. But today I’m running a little later than scheduled and vodka is the only one to blame.

At the store, I push my cart full of spinach, onions, rice, avocados, and granola down the aisle. My last stop is the juice aisle to replenish my stock from last night. As I reach for a bottle of cranberry juice, I hear my name. When I glance over my shoulder, Mrs. Dawson, wearing a bright pink blouse, is waving her hand as if she's trying to stop traffic. She power-walks toward me, the wheel on her grocery cart squeaking louder with each turn.

“Dessa. I thought that was you. It was so hard to tell with the new hair color, but I’ll never forget your face.” Her cart comes to a halt next to mine.

“Hi, Mrs. Dawson. It's such a pleasant surprise to run into you here.”

“Normally I’m not on this side of town?—”

Which is precisely why it’s the one I go to.

“But we were having brunch to talk about all things wedding. Speaking of which, I hope your mom gave you the invite.”

“She did. Thank you.” I force a smile. An invite to a wedding I really don’t want to go to. Lucky me.

“I didn’t have your address, so I was happy I ran into your mom to pass it along, but if I’d known I was going to run into you at the grocery store, I would have given it to you myself,” she says cheerfully.

Janice Dawson has always been on the right side of optimistic. Growing up, I never once saw her mad or even slightly upset. The sun always shines in her world. It wouldn’t surprise me if she carried the invite around just in case we ran in to each other. I’m sure she has a stack of invitations in her purse at the ready to pass out to anyone she forgot. She always hated leaving someone out.

“But your mom mentioned you have a townhouse on Chestnut Street. That’s a pleasant neighborhood.”

“I do. I’ve lived there for about five years.”

“That’s great. I hope you’ll be able to make it.” A hopeful expression fills her face.

“Oh. I don’t know—” I lift my shoulders in a half shrug. I hate being put on the spot.

“The whole family is going to be in town. Everyone would love to see you again.”

“I’m not sure. I’ll have to check my calendar.” Calendar checked, and it’s wide open, but I’m still not going to the wedding.

“And you have to meet Georgia, Tony’s soon-to-be-wife.” She pulls her phone from her purse and flashes me a picture of Georgia and Tony. “She’s such a lovely lady. You two would get along fantastically.”

“They look beautiful together.” I stare at the picture, mostly because all other words have evaded me. They lookhappy together, and I’m glad Tony’s found someone, but hanging out with my ex-boyfriend’s soon-to-be-wife sounds awful. A root canal sounds more enjoyable.

“It’s great you stayed friends with Tony.” Her eyes soften as she offers me a small smile.

I nod. If by “friends,” she means the occasional social media comment, then sure, we’re friends.

She rests a hand on my forearm, and her eyes light up with delight. “I heard you ran into Garrett.”

My chest tightens. If “ran into him” is the same as yelling at him and throwing beer on him. Twice. Then yes, I totally ran into him. “I did.” I give her a tight-lipped smile.

“It will be so great to have the three peas in a pod together again.” Janice’s smile is infectious even though I’m not in the smiley mood.

Since I was eight years old, Tony, Garrett, and I always hung out. The three of us were the only kids on our street, so it was natural for us to become friends. Things changed going into our senior year, then everything completely disintegrated after graduation.

“Oh, I'm not sure about that,” I mutter under my breath.

“And feel free to bring a date. I’m sure some handsome man has snatched you up.”

“Well… Um…” Actually no, but I don’t tell her that. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to?—”

“Everyone is going to be so excited to see you.” She clasps her hands in front of her as if this is already a done deal.

---