Emma
“So, let me get this straight, you little people pleaser,” Marietta said before taking a sip of her cocktail and leaning toward the center of the table. I sighed and did the same, nursing my IPA as the bar thumped with the sounds of a local band warming up.
“Your uptight, pompous tit of a boss basically told you that you won’t get promoted unless you’re married or dating or whatever, and you thought the solution to the problem was signing up for three different dating sites? All within two hours of him dropping this bombshell on you, I might add.”
I groaned, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear, remembering a few questions I’d been forced to answer this afternoon. Well, not forced to answer—more like backed into a corner with no chance of escape and decided the only option was to answer.
Describe your ideal weekend.
What is something you couldn’t live without?
Other than appearance, what is the first thing that people notice about you?
Gah. It was like they were purposely goading you into not being truthful. Who would willingly admit they could never live without their first gaming system or the furry bunny slippers they’d had since college?
“I admit, that wasn’t my brightest moment, and I’m terrified my dad might be involved.” I rested my head on my hand as a bartender with spiky black hair and pink tips passed the table. Marietta asked for another round before focusing her attention back on me. Rose and Angelina stayed silent as she ranted, throwing her arms in the air in case I didn’t fully comprehend how she felt about my decision.
“Oh, honey. I hate that your father would stoop so low. You jumped at the chance to prove yourself, right? I’m sure that’s exactly what he expected you to do,” Rose said, the table silent with that little nugget of information revealed.
“Yeah,” I said, revealing my fears about the headmaster’s comment. “It made me spiral, honestly. To think that man would go to such extremes to control so much of my life.”
“It’s always the ridiculously handsome guys that are the slimiest ones,” Marietta sighed, stirring the ice around her empty glass.
“OMG, gross,” I said, reaching over and pinching her shoulder. She winced, rubbing the tender spot before smiling at me and winking.
“Your dad may be a royal ass, but he is a silver fox,” she added, looking at Angelina and Rose for confirmation.
“Don’t look at me,” Rose said, holding her hand up and shaking her head. “Even if the guy looked like Gerard Butler and Alexander Skarsg?rd had a love child, if he had a shit personality, I wouldn’t find him attractive.”
“Meh,” Angelina said, shrugging. “I can appreciate a decent-looking silver fox, but Emma’s dad is a controlling jackass. Sorry, Em.”
“You’re not saying anything I don’t already know. Anyway, there’s a chance I could meet someone eventually. How’s the new job, Marietta?” I said, desperate for a change of topic, away from the dating disaster apps.
The drummer, warming up, chose that moment to bang out a little practice solo, acting like the punchline for a particularly bad joke. I rolled my eyes and schooled my features. Maybe they’d move on to Rose’s upcoming trip to some five-star resort for her sister’s wedding.
“Oh, no, you don’t. We’re not done discussing this. Has anyone messaged you? Have you messaged anyone?” Angelina asked, thanking the bartender for our drinks and taking a hefty sip of her rum and Coke. “Because I’d love to be the first to congratulate you on your new relationship.”
Damn it.
I mumbled, finishing the dregs of my beer and pulling the second one closer. The tangy hops tickled my tongue as I glanced around the bar, steadily getting busier as the band got closer to beginning their set. Perhaps the bass player was looking for a long-term girlfriend, and I could snatch him up without the awkward first date and subsequent excuses that followed. That could save me from navigating why online dating was an acceptable option for entering a meaningful relationship.
He was good-looking, dressed all in black, with his hair cut short on the sides and long enough in the front to fall over his eyes. A guitar pick was between his teeth as he bent down to adjust an amp on the stage, and I tracked the movement, tapping my finger on the side of the beer glass. It was a foolish thought—the guy looked like he was barely out of college, and I had at least three more decades to go before I entered cougar territory.
I cringed, wrinkling my nose at what my father and the headmaster would think if I brought a guy looking like the bass player to one of the fundraisers I was required to attend.
Oh, my. I was a pathetic people-pleaser who made decisions based on what other people thought I needed.
“Speak up, please,” Rose said, cupping her hand by her ear and narrowing her eyes. Of course, she didn’t realize the unfortunate conclusion I’d made about the innerworkings of my brain, so I pushed it aside and focused on her words.
“We all remember how well online dating worked for me. It only took one restraining order and anxiety medication to see the error of my ways.” She ran a hand through her short ebony hair and sighed before taking another sip of her drink.
With the way this evening started, an Uber ride was definitely in my immediate future if we didn’t order some greasy bar food to soak up the alcohol.
“Oh. Come on,” Angelina replied, stirring her drink. “It’s not all bad. What about Harry? I met him online, and we dated for almost a year.”
“Yep. And then you broke up because he didn’t want to take the next step,” Marietta said, crossing her arms and leaning back in her chair.
“But that had nothing to do with meeting him on an app.” Angelina huffed, narrowing her eyes at Rose, who smiled and winked. “Perhaps. So, have you talked to anyone?” She tilted her head, waiting for me to reply, so I tore my eyes away from the scrumptious guys on stage and thought.
I could lie—it would be easy enough to tell them I hadn’t gotten any responses. Or even that several ridiculously attractive men had reached out, desperate to take me out on a date. But the lies felt like ash in my mouth. My best friends deserved better than that. What was the point in having a circle of trust if you couldn’t share the bad and the good? Bracing myself for their reactions, I took a long drink of the hoppy beer and sighed.
“No one has deserved a message back yet, honestly. It’s just been laughable. Two dick pics and one invite for a video call with him and his mother.”
I shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal, but truthfully, it was a confidence killer. Angelina pursed her lips, and Rose fidgeted with the napkin under her drink before lifting it to her lips to finish. She puckered with the flavor and shook her head, then glanced at the stage where a guy with bleached blond hair and a fishnet tank top slung a guitar over his body and stepped toward the microphone.
I didn’t expect to find true love after an hour, but knowing I was being judged by who knew how many guys based on a picture and the answers to a few surface-level questions was maddening.
“What douches. Were the dicks even decent looking?” Rose scoffed, trying to hold in a giggle. She failed, and soon the four of us were clutching our stomachs and laughing, the sound carrying over the band’s opening number and causing the surrounding tables to stare. But it didn’t matter—it felt good.
It felt freaking fantastic, letting go of the stress and worry of the day and just laughing with my best friends. Nothing else mattered. Not this ridiculous online dating nonsense or the ever-present fear of disappointing my parents—especially my father. Just strong drinks and good music.
“Couldn’t you just find a guy friend to go with you to whatever stuffy event Headmaster Twat-Racket demands you attend and then be done with him once you get a promotion?” Marietta asked. She had a valid question, and one I’d asked myself countless times this afternoon, even pulling up my phone’s contact list for suitable guys.
Maybe they thought that was the solution, but I knew better after making it to the z’s with no prospects. It might work for the short term, but was it really so bad to see if I could find someone this way?
Surely, it wouldn’t be such a thriving venture if no one ever found a happily ever after. What did I have to lose? I’d wade through a couple of bad dates, maybe get stood up a time or two, and have to deal with a few weirdos before I found somebody I genuinely connected with.
“I thought about that, but it’s not like I have guys lined up around the block to ask me out. What’s the harm in putting my love life in the hands of a supercomputer’s algorithm?”
“I guess,” Angelina said, fingering the teardrop necklace that fell below the neckline of her tank top. “But wouldn’t you rather meet someone organically?”
“Like in the produce section?” Rose joked, bumping shoulders with Angelina, who rolled her eyes and smirked.
“Don’t be daft. You know, I mean meeting someone as you go about your day. But I suppose this is still better than speed dating.”
“Or blind dates,” Angelina said.
“Or stopping by your parent’s house for Sunday dinner only to find out they invited some guy you went to preschool with when you were three,” Marietta added, taking the cherry from her drink and eating it.
“Ouch. Speaking from personal experience?” I asked, watching as her expression morphed between shock and embarrassment.
“One hundred percent,” she said, nodding into her drink. “And on a day I looked like human roadkill, fresh from the gym after an hour cycling class, then hot yoga.”
“Oh, I’m sure your mother loved that,” Rose said before rattling off several appetizers to the server and another round of cocktails. Marietta shook her head so her long, chestnut hair swished around her shoulders. She took a moment and pulled it into a high bun, then turned her focus toward me.
Damn. I thought we’d deflected away from my pitiful love life.
There was too much to unpack without their knowing glances and subtle smirks. I had houseplants to water and Fiestaware to buy. Perhaps after working through two Julia Child cookbooks, organizing my closet, and pressure washing the entire apartment complex, I could return and figure out the baggage that was my feelings on the matter of romantic partners.
There were too many thoughts swirling around my brain for me to have an intelligent conversation with the three of them. We needed to laugh about the subpar dick pics I’d received, muse about how one day our princes would swoop in and save us from ourselves, then hope the good-looking band on stage played music we could dance to.
“So, you think a supercomputer who matches your answers to a bunch of random questions to the answers of random guys is your best chance of success? Have you thought about telling the headmaster to fuck right off? You don’t need a man to determine your competence for a position, and you are certainly old enough to tell your father to butt the hell out of your life.”
I sighed as Angelina arched an eyebrow like she was ready to shut down any excuse I had. Would that be so bad? Not finding someone and just waiting for it to happen, eventually? Maybe Headmaster Hopkirk would respect my self-sufficiency and promise never to trample it again. He’d observe the quiche I made in my baby blue crock pot with quiet awe, respecting my hard-earned independence.
I’d be seen as the woman who grabbed life by the balls and wrangled it into neatly organized drawers with color-coded labels. No longer would I be the grown woman who ran away and had to be rescued by her parents—I’d be the woman with the amazing life she’d built for herself—one delicious brunch dish at a time.
“No. I think I need this job and will do anything to make it happen. Even if it is navigating the online dating pool.”
“That’s the problem, though, babe. Do you need it, or do you think you need it?” Rose asked, reaching out to run my shoulder. “Would it be so terrible if you did something that had nothing to do with your degree if it meant you were free of his influence and truly—truly—happy?”
“I—” My voice stuttered as I pressed a hand to my chest, shaking my head. I didn’t have an answer. Did I want a job where my father had so much pull? Did I want a job where I had to conform to fanatical demands?
This was just another wrench in the toolbox that was my life. Every time I thought I was in the place, the groove, the state of mind needed to be a successful, grown-ass adult whose life was more fulfilling than her two-bedroom apartment, succulent, and freezer full of bagel bites and sorbet—I slipped right back to the insecure girl not confident enough to move forward.
I dealt with being fired by sinking into myself, never explaining my side of the story. I accepted help from my parents, making me indebted to them—something they constantly reminded me of—and I hooked up with guys who wanted nothing more than one night.
Some would say I was taking the easy way out, but nothing was easy about this. It wasn’t easy to wake up each day struggling to have a positive outlook on life while you were berated for coffee not being hot enough, paper not being correctly collated, and not wearing an appropriate outfit for a random Tuesday night dinner at the country club.
That settled it—I was spiraling.
Spiraling into the depth of my mind where every insecure feeling and questionable decision bubbled to the surface and latched onto my body like an immobile ten-ton weight directly centered on my chest. I rubbed my breastbone vigorously before finishing my beer and focusing on the stage.
The band, who introduced themselves as Alice’s Monsters, had moved from alternative rock to more upbeat songs. This one sounded like Beyoncé, but the tempo was different—less electric and more unplugged. It was perfect for dancing. Perfect for losing myself in the pulsing, pounding rhythm of the songs and forgetting the day’s nonsense.
“Shots!” Marietta cried over whatever club mix played while the band took a break. “This night isn’t complete without tequila, ladies.”
I blinked, pushing my damp curls away from my face. The bar food had done little to quell the alcohol coursing through my bloodstream, but I was too far gone to care about responsible decisions. We were dancing in the middle of a dozen other warm bodies, bouncing around to the music, singing to the lyrics, and all in desperate need of air conditioning and water.
A guy whose name I couldn’t remember, with sweaty hands and teeth too white, had kept a hand on my waist for the last three songs. He’d slowly let his fingers slip underneath my shirt to graze the bare skin on my back. I shrugged it away—for the third time—and moved closer to the girls as we made our way to the bar for said shots.
Shots were a bad idea. My subconscious knew they were a bad idea, but I felt too good to care. I was in that blissful state of buzzing enough that the entire world was giggly and bright, and it was still too early for that bubble to burst.
“Oh. What about my brother, Ryan?” Angelina said before taking her shot and popping a lime slice into her mouth. She sucked on the wedge, squishing her eyebrows together and shaking her head. “I’m sure he’d be your stand-in boyfriend while you weed through the basement dwellers and trust fund babies.”
I laughed, licking the salt on my wrist, then throwing the tequila back, wincing as it burned a path toward my stomach. “Isn’t he in college? No, thank you. I’ll manage, y’all. At least we know the dick pics are plentiful.”
“Wait. Speaking of dicks. What about that gym teacher at the academy? Didn’t you say his sweats leave little to the imagination? It could be a worthwhile investment,” Rose mentioned, swaying to the slow song they’d pumped through the speakers. My eyes roamed the dance floor, watching couples pair themselves off, gyrating against each other as close as possible, some keeping things PG-13, and others, not so much.
No-name, too-white-teeth guy leaned on the corner of the bar, leering at me like he wanted to drag me on the dance floor and lick my body. Usually, I didn’t mind a little heavy petting while I danced. Find me a suitable partner with decent moves and a healthy libido, and I’d be the first to press our pelvises together to see what happens. But something about this guy made me cringe. Cringe on a level I didn’t want to deal with—especially feeling this good.
I needed someone else—someone to shove the guy away and cocoon me in strong, tanned arms.
Shit.
My thought process struggled to catch up to a decision I’d already made as I slipped my phone out of my pocket and fired off a series of messages. No-name winked and turned to Rose, who had flagged down the bartender. She passed over a bottle of water that I gratefully chugged, then arched an eyebrow and used one finger to push a shot of something dark green toward me that smelled like tart apples and spice.
Good job, Rose. Ten points to Slytherin.
We clinked the glasses together, the liquid spilling over my fingers before we downed the shots. I didn’t cringe but hummed as the flavors danced in my mouth. It tasted like Christmas in a glass—all shimmery, spicy, and something earthy while layered with apples. This bartender deserved a raise—or a twenty. Probably a twenty, since I didn’t know who the owner was, and I doubted they wanted to hear from a semi-drunk patron about the drink-making skills of an employee on a busy Friday night.
I tugged the bill out of my purse and slapped it on the bar before squeezing in between Marietta and Rose. I side-eyed the too-white-teeth guy and was baffled that I let him touch me at all because he was currently checking out his reflection in a spoon. Seriously? Who had a spoon at a bar? Did this guy order a drink complicated enough that it required a spoon? Or did he not have the common sense to open his phone’s front-facing camera like a normal person?
“Hello?” Rose said, snapping her fingers in front of my face. “Gym teacher at your job? Handsome guy? About your age? Dimples for days?”
I focused on her electric blue fingernails, wondering how my life ended up as an aerial shot of a coastal town destroyed by a hurricane—nothing left standing. Just support beams and planks of wood floating over the vast, unforgiving ocean. I couldn’t spend time worrying about collateral damage. There was only one point. Rebuilding. The what-ifs and could-have-beens were utterly useless when push came to shove.
“Nooo,” I said, leaning my elbows on the table and putting my head in my hands. “I don’t want the gym guy or your brother. I don’t want the random guy squeezing kiwis at the grocery store or the creepy dude at the end of the bar getting a hard-on at his own reflection.”
“We got you, babe,” Angelina said, rubbing my arms before finishing her water. “Just tell us what you need.”
“Ugh. I don’t know what I need.”
It was the truth. I didn’t know what I needed. I wasn’t keen to rely on some computer to tell me who I should date, and I had no desire to pick up random guys at bars. In the same breath, I knew it was stupid to hope my weekly trip to Dunkin’ Donuts would result in long-term affection and, eventually, love. As I glanced at the spoon dude at the end of the bar, I still didn’t know what would happen tomorrow—but I knew what I needed tonight.
I needed Miller.