Chapter 6 Eve
SIX
EVE
Craft night with my girls is hosted on Friday at my renovated apartment above my parents’ garage. I have off from work. Usually if I’m not bartending on Fridays or Saturdays I attend the home ice hockey games with Mom, like most townies. We love to support our team.
So much so that Mr. Boucher saw the Heston U and hockey-themed stickers I made for my water bottle when their season started and asked if I’d make some more to put out at the bar.
They go like hotcakes whenever I bring a new batch in.
It makes my heart happy when people tag me in the photos of the stickers in use on social media.
Tonight’s free since the Knights are out of town for an away game. The school’s live feed is one of the many tabs open on my phone to keep track of the score.
Humming the song playing in the background on my speaker set shaped like a rainbow, I get everything ready for my friends’ arrival.
Once I’ve cleared away some of the chaotic assortment of clutter—which always seems to pile up around my space no matter how often I attempt to keep it presentable and organized—I get out my things for crafting.
The closet is a mess. I cram all of my supplies in here when I have a random urge to clean everything for a mental fresh slate.
Meaning, all my doom piles and things I’ve left out so I’ll remember them end up shoved out of sight more often than not.
Right now it’s a mix of hobby graveyard and stuff I’ve been holding on to.
Whispering a promise to not get sidetracked and bracing myself, I dive in.
First, I move my clay and resin supplies out of the way. Usually I keep them handy since they’re my go-to craft activity, but I put them away so we have the room we need for wine and snacks on the table where my earring crafting station regularly lives.
The abandoned polygel kit is next—the one an ad on social media convinced me I had to have because it made me suddenly need to try doing my own nails.
It was a fun process to learn, despite the five hours it took to do them.
The fact I wasn’t good at it right away made it hard to want to practice, even though some part of my brain acknowledges that’s logically how skills work.
Generally it’s overpowered by the side of my mind that fumes when I don’t immediately uncover a hidden skill for the brand new hobby I picked up on impulse.
I squint at the contents of the closet when I don’t see my box of embroidery thread.
It should be here. I think about it for a beat, then smack the door frame with a frustrated sigh.
I know what happened. I’m sure I remember seeing it at Shawn’s last, hit with a photographic memory of taking it there to work on some handmade gifts for the holidays.
I’ll have to endure seeing his face to get it back.
Shaking my head, I keep moving things around.
“There you are,” I crow in success.
The landscape painting I picked out at Mrs. Carter’s estate sale is perfect for tonight’s craft session with my friends.
We started with thrifted paintings and added in our own ghosts for Halloween, then decided we should keep doing seasonal ones.
This painting will become my own cute holiday ghostie version of A Christmas Carol.
A knock sounds at my door.
“It’s open,” I call.
“We’re here,” Julia announces.
Grinning, I set it down and greet them with tight hugs.
“Oh my god, I’m so excited to make shit and talk shit,” Lauren says.
“Same,” I agree with a laugh. “It’s so good to see you. We went way too long without a girls’ night this time.”
“I know.” Caroline pouts. “Stupid work. Who let us be adults? With bills and responsibility? This sucks.”
“And existential dread? No thanks,” Julia adds.
“Hate it,” Lauren says.
“Absolute bullshit,” I confirm.
We all giggle. I invite them in and we catch up while preparing snacks and pouring wine. One of them puts on Pride & Prejudice—the 2005 version with the epic hand flex, obviously, although we’re fans of every adaptation.
Twenty minutes pass before we touch our crafting activity.
Crafting is the best. It’s the thing that makes me happiest. Sharing it with my friends is my favorite thing to do. We have the best time adding our own touches to the paintings, breathing new life into them.
“Okay, I really needed tonight,” I say. “This cheered me up a lot after what Shawn did.”
Lauren puts down her paintbrush and lays her hand over mine. “Are you two fighting again? You can tell us anything.”
The memory of getting sidetracked from telling them last week by Cole in skates surfaces from the depths of my mind. Shoot, I knew I was forgetting something. Since I’d started the text, my brain accepted it as a completed task.
“I know. Shawn dumped me.” I pause to wince, still pissed off. “By text this time. While I was showing up at his place after work and asking what he wanted to do for dinner. It was fucking awful.”
The three of them scoff in anger.
“Are you serious?” Julia’s eyes narrow at my nod.
Lauren is a ball of rage. She looks ready to hit something. “He’s the world’s biggest idiot.”
“Want me to call my cousin? He knows a guy who knows a guy.” Caroline blinks at us innocently. “What? I have an active approach to problems.”
I laugh. “No. But you’re right, he’s a loser. By text—who does that?”
“Cowards,” Julia replies flatly.
I swirl my paintbrush through the water, biting my lip. A note of vulnerability creeps into my voice.
“It’s just going to suck to be single during a time it’s couple-central. And even if I think he sucks, it’s not like it’s easy to go from falling asleep snuggled up with someone to nothing.”
“Of course, he hurt you,” Caroline says gently.
I nod, throat tight. “We weren’t even fighting this time, which is usually how I know we’re close to calling it quits. I mean, maybe things have gotten a little less steamy than when we were in school. It’s been a while since we last had sex, but I just figured we were both busy.”
We’re all quiet for a few moments. I feel lighter talking it out with them. Their support helps the melancholy ease.
“The only cure for a broken heart is a new dick to make you forget the old one,” Lauren says.
“I think I’m good on toys. As much as I love to read about hot fae men, I told you I’m not brave enough to buy one of those fantasy dildos you showed us.” I stifle a laugh. “Be serious.”
“I am,” Lauren counters. “And I don’t mean toys, although there’s always room for an addition to our collections and I highly recommend the 4D reading experience. You should get over that idiot Shawn by getting back in the saddle. Find someone new.”
I put on a regency-era accent to go with the movie playing in the background. “Because I meet so many eligible bachelors tending bar.”
“Forget that. Obviously Mr. Darcy and every other fictional man are the standard, but they don’t exist,” Caroline says.
We all echo her with our woes that the fictional men we love aren’t real.
“Algorithms are the way to go, babe.” Caroline smiles wickedly around a grape.
“Without them helping us wade through the no’s and absolutely not’s of the world, we might never connect with potential choices.
Plus, I check off so many of my top fantasies.
Like last month, while I was on a business trip in Chicago, I hooked up with this super hot businessman who railed me against his office window in a high rise. Like, he absolutely wrecked my shit.”
She fans herself. We all fall apart with laughter and delighted squeals for our girl.
“I’m so done with guys like Shawn. I don’t know if I want to rebound right away into a relationship.
But I also am kind of dreading how many couple-y things are going to be in my face through the holidays.
” I pause, eyes widening. “No, my birthday party. Not only do I not have anyone to kiss at midnight, but now I don’t have anyone to wear that sexy outfit I picked out for and they won’t be peeling that little number off me at the end of the night. ”
I don’t always like to celebrate my birthday on the real day, but this year I decided a New Year’s Eve birthday bash would be perfect to ring in twenty-five. Now I’ll be one of the few single people on the guest list.
“You’re still wearing it,” Julia insists.
“For yourself,” Caroline agrees. “But also, you could totally still enjoy the night with someone if you find the right match to invite. You’re closing yourself off to so many possibilities, and half the time you never see them ever again.”
I swing a skeptical look between the three of them. “So I just hop on Tinder like a meat market?”
“Or Hinge, or any of the services,” Julia says. “Despite what they advertise as the user experience, they’re all pretty much the same.”
I love my friends, and I know they support me.
Sometimes I can’t help but feel as if they have it together and I don’t.
Caroline scored a job for a marketing firm with global reach that sends her traveling around the world.
Julia is working in PR for the NHL in Boston.
And Lauren teaches lectures at the college while working on her PhD.
They’re totally winning at the transition into adulthood post-graduation while I’m left lagging behind with a fake-it-til-I-panic approach.
I mull their suggestion over. Dating is challenging enough.
It’s partially why I was content to stay with Shawn. He was…easy. Familiar. He might not have understood my interests or my neurodivergent quirks all the time, but the idea of finding someone else that will accept every facet of me, including my ADHD, is daunting.
Obviously I want to share my life with a partner that accepts me for who I am and doesn’t believe I’m too much or too hard to love. Everyone wants that.
Maybe they’re right. This doesn’t have to be serious, it can just be for fun. I could find someone who doesn’t want to be lonely for the next few months, either.
Someone who’s down with a no strings attached arrangement.