Page 133 of Moonshine Kiss
“Thanks, Juney,” I sighed, stepping away from the door.
“It wasn’t a compliment. It was a statement of concern.”
“Thank you for your concern.”
“Wait. Stop talking. I want to make sure all this counts.” She pulled out her phone and fiddled around. “Okay. Timer’s set. How are you feeling?”
“Great.”
June eyed me. “Is this one of those sarcastic jokes of yours?”
I face-planted on the couch. “What do you think?” I asked through the pillow.
Everything hurt. Especially that hole in my chest where my heart had been. I’d gone from having everything—Bowie, a great job, a bright future—to nothing but a greasy-haired,Golden Girlsrerun-watching cat lady.
The pillow smelled like old SpaghettiOs. I sat up.
My sister glanced around the living room, noting the mound of used tissues. “From the evidence you’re presenting, I feel that you arenotgreat.”
“You’re very observant,” I said dryly. “No, I’m not great. I suck. Everything sucks.” I was horrified by the sudden urge to cry. How did I still have water in my tear ducts? I should have been dehydrated by now.
June frowned. “But isn’t this what you wanted?”
“How is any of this what I wanted?” I blew my nose noisily.
“Didn’t you want to prove that Bowie would hurt you again just like he did when you were in college? Didn’t you also want to prove that Connelly could and would take your job?”
“What are you talking about?”
June nudged a shredded magazine with her foot. I’d ripped the cover off because it promised me seven ways to keep my man.
“It would appear that at least part of you wanted to be right,” June said. Eddie jogged over to her and peered up at her. “Nice kitty.”
“You’re not making any sense,” I accused her.
June looked at her phone. “You thought Bowie could still hurt you. So you proved yourself right. You thought Connelly had it out for you so you let him force you to resign. I thought you’d be happier.”
I laughed. A dry, hacking, humorless cackle that had George giving me the side-eye and waddling further down the couch.
“Do Ilookhappy?”
June peered at me and shook her head. “Definitely not,” she said with confidence.
She took a seat in the armchair I’d bought because it seemed so cheerful with its big blue flowers. Now I kind of hated it.
“What am I going to do, Juney?”
She blinked. “Either fix it or move on,” she said, as if it were that simple.
The timer dinged, and June stood. She held her phone out at arm’s length, and I heard the audible click of her camera.
“Seriously?”
“Proof for Mom.”
“What? Your timer went off. You’re free to go,” I snapped.
“You’re upset. Do you want me to make you some hot tea? Some people find hot beverages soothing.”
