Page 131 of Practice Makes Perfect
Lea passes me the frozen drink with a cautious smile. “That’s my girl.”
I take a long sip, and the artificial blue raspberry flavor floods my mouth. It tastes like nostalgia and heartbreak and, weirdly, a bit like victory. At least I’m not letting him steal one more thing from me.
“You know what would make this better?” Lea asks, setting her cherry Slurpee on the coffee table and heading back to the kitchen.
“A time machine?”
“Second best thing.” She pulls a bottle of vodka from the freezer. “Courtesy of Mike, who says to tell you he’s, quote, ‘Ready to kick Linc’s ass if you want.’”
Something warm blooms in my chest at that. “You told Mike?”
“Of course not.” Lea returns with the vodka and two shot glasses. “Declan did. Who heard it from Maine. It’s the hockey team. They’re a symbiotic organism.”
Great. Nothing quite like being the talk of the town to put the cherry on top of my rejection sundae. It’s a shame, too, because I’d started to think of some of those guys as friends.
Lea pours a double shot of vodka into each of our Slurpees and raises hers in toast. “To dickheads who don’t deserve you.”
I clink my cup against hers. “To vodka. The real MVP.”
We drink in silence for a moment. I can feel the alcohol warming my stomach, softening the edges of my pain just slightly. Lea slides down to join me on the floor, her back against the sofa.
“So,” she says after a while, choosing each word as carefully as a fish swimming past a shark. “Have you heard from him?”
I snort. “Not a peep. Radio silence. I’ve officially joined Linc’s legion of former girls. Maybe we should start a support group. Make t-shirts.”
“You haven’t tried to call him?”
“No, fuck him. What would I even say?” I say, taking another long sip, the alcohol and sugar creating a pleasant buzz. “‘Hey, remember when you said you loved me and then dumped me twelve hours later? Good times!’” I shake my head. “No thanks. My dignity has taken enough hits.”
Lea nudges my shoulder with hers. “What happened, Em? Really? You were so happy yesterday morning.”
“Nothing!” I sigh. The memory of that morning—waking up in his arms, making love, his whispered “I love you” against my skin—sends a fresh wave of pain through me. I take another gulp of my spiked Slurpee. “That’s the weird thing. Everything was great and then… it wasn’t.”
She stays silent. The old ‘keep quiet until Em can’t resist talking’ trick.
It works.
I drop my head against the sofa cushion behind me. “God, asking him to teach me about sex has to be the most idiotic decision I’ve ever made. Like, what was I thinking? ‘Hey, campus player with commitment issues, show me what intimacy is like!’ Yeah, brilliant plan, Em. A-plus life choices.”
Lea turns to face me, her expression surprisingly serious for someone drinking vodka through a straw at nearly 4 a.m. “Don’t do that,” she says firmly.
“Do what?” I snort, taking another long swig of my drink. “Be honest about my catastrophically bad judgment?”
“No, don’t act like trusting him was wrong. Don’t act like loving him was a mistake.” She sets her drink down. “A year ago, you wouldn’t have considered becoming intimate with anyone. You wouldn’t have let yourself be vulnerable. The fact that you could—that you did—that’s growth, Em. That’s healing.”
I hate that she’s right. It only makes everything more frustrating.
“Yeah, well, a lot of good that healing did me.” I slam my Slurpee down on the coffee table, blue liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “The worst part is, despite everything, despite how angry I am, despite how much I want to hate him… I still love him. How pathetic is that?”
“It’s not pathetic. It’s human.”
“It’s inconvenient is what it is.”
Lea laughs. “Yeah, emotions tend to be that way.”
“You’re supposed to be on my side,” I grumble, failing to hide my own smile.
She raises her cup again. “To Em Dubois, who’s still a badass even when she’s crying on the floor.”
