Page 12 of Snowed In
“Hey.” One of the men calls out to us, stepping away from his group. “You okay?” he asks Megan in ais this guy bothering you?voice.
I bristle, but Megan just nods. “He’s a friend. Thanks, though.”
“You sure?”
“Positive,” she says with a smile. “Have a good night.”
The stranger raises a hand in acknowledgment and leaves us be. I turn to Megan with an expectant expression.
“Friend, huh?”
“Best friend,” she says. “It’s a real honor, so you’re welcome.”
“You realize that means you’re going to have to let me walk you now. As your friend.”
“Best friend.”
“Best friend,” I echo, but still she hesitates.
“You don’t need to.”
“But I’d like to.”
She glances back at the traffic, clearly torn, and I think that’s it, and we’ll say our goodbyes, when she looks down at her app and sees the ride she just requested is canceled.
“That’s one good thing about bad days,” I say, as her face falls. “They always end.”
She slips her phone back into her pocket, pursing her lips. “I’m really not that far.”
“Then it won’t take that long. Please,” I add. “My mother would disown me if I didn’t.”
“How is Colleen?” she asks, and I try not to show how surprised I am that she remembers my mother’s name.
“She’s good. Happy in the knowledge that she raised her children right.”
Megan snorts, her face scrunching with indecision before smoothing out. “Okay. Thank you.”
And just like that, I’m walking her home.
I’m embarrassed about my persistence as soon as we hit the main road. It’s late, but it’s not that late. Instead, it’s that odd time of night when the after-work mob is leaving, but it’s too early for the nightlife crowd, and the streets are a mix of office clothes and minidresses.
We dodge a group of tech bros with their branded backpacks and lanyards still swinging around their necks and almost walk into a group of women spilling out of another pub, lighting cigarettes with French-tipped nails.
I hold my breath until they’re well behind us, keeping my gaze ahead.
It’s been three months since I’ve gone cold turkey.
And it’sshit.
It’s my fourth go at it, but it’s the longest I’ve ever gone, and I’m determined that this time will be the last time. That I’ll quit them for good even though some days the cravings are so bad I feel like my throat is closing up, and some nights I can’t sleep more than a few snatched hours, and I get so frustrated I can—
“So,” I say, plastering a smile on my face. “What have you been up to since you…you know.”
“Left my fiancé at the altar and skipped town?”
“Yeah. That.”
“Well, I moved here, and now I work in marketing,” she says, and I nod because what else are you supposed to do when someone says they work in marketing?
