Page 3 of Codi
He’s good to Becca, and she’s a great mom, but I know her. She’ll run herself ragged and put everyone else first before herself, and even the best moms need a break from the baby. Oliver agreed to our outing and practically pushed us out the door.
We chat for a while, laughing and joking. As the night goes on, I switch to water and beer. I’m getting tipsy, and that’s where it ends. I’ve got that shiny new nursing gig at Carnegie General in the morning. Probably best not to show up hungover.
“So there aren’t any hot doctors at all?” Becca asks me in disbelief.
I giggle softly as I take another swig of my imported Italian beer. “I know, it’s total bullshit, isn’t it?”
“All those hospital TV show dramas lied to me.” Becca laughs and smiles at me. “So nobody worth mentioning?”
“Not even a little bit.” The smell of hops tickles my nose, and I set my glass aside, unable to finish it. “Besides, I work in women’s health. The men I work with look at our bodies like a mechanic looks under the hood of a car.”
“That’s... not even a little romantic.”
I have to laugh. “Exactly. But I have this coworker, Nancy, who’s determined to set me up with a friend of hers. So we’ll see what happens with that.”
“Really? Ooh.” Becca leans forward. “Do you know anything about him?”
“He’s foreign,” I reply with a shrug. “British, I think? Nancy says he’s hot as hell.”
“You don’t sound too excited. You never know, maybe it’ll go well! I really wish we could find you a good man,” Becca laments. “You deserve the world, Denise. You really do.”
“My son deserves the world,” I correct softly as she touches my hand and gives it a squeeze. I squeeze back. “And I can’t bring myself to let anyone into his world that isn’t going to stay or be someone Lucas can look up to. There’s just too many risks, and if I get hurt, he gets hurt too. I can’t do it.”
But I don’t want to talk about me anymore. “So tell me about this new job. An administrator for the city? That’s a huge step!”
“It is.” Becca shifts gears quickly because I pushed the right button—her passion. Little Miss School President has wanted to be in politics since she could pronounce the damn word. “I’m focusing on networking at the minute, but I’m confident in a year or two I could potentially run for office. I’m aiming for city council.”
“That’s amazing. What does Oliver think?”
“He’s so supportive.” Becca smiles. “It was a bit of a risk, but some of our pro-Bionic friends encouraged us to go public, and we did. We’ve accumulated quite a following online just by sharing our story, and I’m doing what I can to use it for good. It’s difficult sometimes, though, when people are more curious about my husband’s penis and how it works than my potential career.”
A devilish grin crosses my face. “Question about that. Does it have a vibrate setting?”
Becca gasps at me and playfully slaps my arm. “Denise!”
“What? I’ve always wondered!” We dissolve into laughter.
By ten, Becca’s fidgeting up a storm. Her foot taps the table, but not to any of the St. Paddy’s songs’ rhythm. The minute she starts biting her nails, I know it’s about time to wrap up. As the night goes on, the bar gets louder and more and more people show up, becoming more obnoxious as the minutes tick by and the liquor keeps flowing. There’s a line out the front door, and the servers practically have to wade through bodies.
I’m ready to tap out myself. A whiskey and three tall beers is pretty tame, in comparison to my twenties. I’ll probably be drowsy within the hour. I look forward to early bedtime these days. I get my wallet out of my purse to pay for our drinks.
“Those men at the other end of the bar are totally checking you out, Denise.”
I subtly glance over my shoulder, and my interest dies instantly. They look like college frat boys—all spiky hair, some colored different shades of green to celebrate holiday, and studded punk clothes and piercings that aresonot my jam. I want fashion to bring back bomber jackets, pomade fades, and jeans that aren’t as bedazzled as mine.
“No thanks.” I sling my purse over my shoulder. I flick the holowatch on my wrist, connected to the phone in my pocket, and hit a command on the shimmering imagery that hovers in the air just above the display. Our driver will be here in ten minutes. “Let’s get outta here before they start hitting us with piss-poor pickup lines and ask us to deflower their virgin friends.”
“Wait, that’s happened to you?” Becca says as she follows me out.
“Twice. C’mon.”
In the fresh, chill air of mid-March as we hang around outside, I find myself wishing I could smoke a cigarette, thinking back to the man I could’ve talked up but didn’t. It’s been almost six years since I gave it up cold turkey the moment I knew I was pregnant with Lucas. It was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever done, and I don’t regret it, but occasionally that craving still hits me. Funny how something that used to ease my stress would most likely kill me, even though all of the smoking laws changed with the outlawing of toxic additives.
They can try to paint it as self-care all they want these days. It’ll never stop being a bad habit to me.
A cluster of partying sorority girls make their way toward the bar, and we shuffle out of their way. I can’t help but laugh. “Takes you back, doesn’t it?”
The jarring sound of metal clanging behind us startles us, and we both turn. I peer down a dark alleyway, hearing laughter. It doesn’t sound like a good time—the voices are cold. Mocking.
