Page 6 of Nerdelicious
They couldn’t be more opposite. Granny owns guns, eats meat, and goes to church every Sunday. My parents are vegans, pacifists, and atheists. And yet Granny and Mom talk like two best friends at least once a week. And usually about me.
An hour later, we’ve finished dinner and cleanup. Grace has forced me to pull my long dark hair out of its ever-present braid, conned me into lip gloss and mascara, and maneuvered me behind the wheel of the pink Cadillac.
I’ll just go to the diner on Main Street, get a milkshake, and hang out for a bit. Then I’ll head back to Granny’s. She’ll be none the wiser.
There is no way I’m going to this party.
Chapter Two
Love hatesthat game of words!
It is a crime to fence with life—I tell you,
There comes one moment, once—and God help those
Who pass that moment by!—when Beauty stands
Looking into the soul with grave, sweet eyes
That sicken at pretty words!
–Cyrano de Bergerac
“Welcome to the party of the century!” A nude man, liberally striped with blue body paint, streaks past me.
I jump out of the way of his quivering butt cheeks and land in some bushes next to the sidewalk.
People waiting in front of Jude’s house clap and yell their approval of the naked man’s pronouncement while I untangle myself from the violent foliage.
The street is lined with cars and the front walk of the house is jam-packed with people laughing, talking, having a grand ol’ time, and waiting to get in. Why am I here?
You should turn around and go home. No one wants to see you anyway, Delores Umbridge insists.
I had the best of intentions to avoid the party. I drove the opposite way down Main Street, passed the Frostee Freeze, waved to Ol’ Roy—who’s eternally chilling outside the H-E-B—and parked at the Finer Diner. Then I sat there and stared through the windows for ten full minutes.
There were—I shit you not—three different couples sitting in booths, sharing milkshakes and fries and gazing into each other’s eyes like annoying love zombies.
And that’s when my thoughts struck me like physical blows.
First, it’s a Friday night and I’m alone, sitting in a car that’s not mine, outside a diner I don’t want to be at.
Second, Granny is right. I need to move on. And perhaps under someone else.
Third, to actually get under someone else, I need a drink. Something stronger than a milkshake.
I get that making out with some random dude isn’t going to fix anything wrong with my life, but maybe it’ll be like... when they brought Buffy back from the dead and she was all weird and depressed but then she made out with Spike and everything got better. Except for the hellmouth opening and releasing all the uber vampires, and the nineteenth episode of season six where Spike attacked Buffy as an impetus for him to get his soul back and that wasnot cool, Joss Whedon.
But still.
I’ve seen enough therapists to know I need to challenge my own assumptions and negative self-talk, and I should go to this party. It’s good for my mental health in general to be around people.
And the most important thought hits me like Thor’s hammer upside the head: I’m sick of myself. My own insecurities. My own thoughts of worthlessness.
I have no idea what I’m going to do with my life, I don’t have control over every aspect of my future, but there is something I can control.
Jack doesn’t have to be my only. Not anymore. The awareness bursts through me, exploding out of my skin like a glitter bomb that settles in a fine sheen of dust. I need to wipe it away. I need to wipe Jack away. I need new memories.
Which is why I’m here.
