Page 99 of The Witching Hours

I was too tired to clean up, but didn’t want to face it in the morning. That was one thing about being single. Besides the loneliness, I mean. That goes without saying. It’s a lot of work because there’s no task division. Everything falls to me. Yes. It’s better than being married to somebody I couldn’t stand, but that doesn’t negate the fact that it’s tiring. Maybe I wouldn’t be so tired if I ate right, but who has the energy to eat right? Right?

I wandered around picking up stray cups, napkins, etc. and turning off lights. I’d gathered the aftermath of reveling to a single counter near the kitchen sink and turned on the TVfor company. After throwing away everything that couldn’t be recycled, I turned to the poor man’s party spread on my small island. A third of a ridiculous cake remained along with chips, dip, some two-liter sized plastic bottles of soft drink, and a few almost empty liquor bottles. At least I got three good bottles of gin. My real friends don’t have to ask what I want. And three bottles should last me until Christmas. If I play my cards right, I’ll get another two bottles of hooch in celebration of holy days.

Allowing myself another sigh, I scooped up some ranch dip with a man-size Frito then had three more. After all, the message had been, “You’re one day beyond caring so why try?”

The Montrose Arts Festival will be in full swing tomorrow, the local news anchor was announcing. The news babe by his side was grinning and nodding. I don’t know. Maybe she really liked the Montrose Arts Festival or maybe she was just paid to agree.Egads.I’m getting cynical.

“That’s right, Bob,” she said. “It’s one of those Houston-area traditions that simplymustbe experienced. Something for everybody whether it’s food, entertainment, or… Well. Let’s not forget the art!”

No. Let’s not forget the art!

Wonder what it says about a person when they think in sarcasm?

I dumped the remainder of the sad cake in the trash with no regret. Even though the creator probably thought it was art, let’s forget about it. After allowing myself another three scoops of dip, the chips and dip joined the cake. When all remnants of a smorgasbord of junk food were in the trash, removed from sight, I felt better already.

My phone was vibrating on the kitchen island, doing that thing that looked like it was trying to walk off the edge. I seriously thought about letting it.Let’s all go together.Butbefore I committed myself to buying a new phone at the price of whimsy, I looked at the face. It was Cass.

“Hi,” I said.

“Uh. Oh. Are you mad I couldn’t make it to the party? Happy Birthday by the way.”

“No. I’m not mad. Thank you. And why weren’t you here?”

“I got stuck in a meeting and threatened with my job if I left. Have I mentioned how much I hate my job?”

“Once or twice, but you’re a liar. We both know youloveyour job. Have I mentioned how much I hated this party?”

“No. What happened?”

“Nothing except that I really hadn’t realized just how old people think forty is until they laid it on. Thick as if a cement truck dumped its contents in my living room.”

“That bad?”

“Just wait until it’s your turn. You’ll see.”

“Not after this warning. I plan to spend my fortieth in the south of France.”

“Excellent plan. You owe me for saving you from a roasting.”

“You were roasted?”

“That’s how it felt.”

“Tomorrow’s Saturday. Let’s do something not age-related.”

“Not age related,” I repeated. “Like skateboarding?”

She laughed. “You’ve still got your sense of humor. How old could you be?”

“Forty.”

It was her turn to laugh. “Let’s go to the Montrose Arts Festival.”

“I don’t know,” I said while continuing to throw stuff in the trash.

“Come on. You may meet some dreamy artist who’s looking for a sugar mama and thinks forty is the new twenty.”

“Where do you get such ideas? No. Wait. From your pet unicorn?”

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