Chapter 24
LOREN
GUESS WHAT I FOUND?
MEG
WHAT?
YOU’LL SEE!
The most amazing, wonderful thing just happened.
It’s like fate has decided to offer a reward for all my recent hardships. A reward sitting in the backseat of my car as I drive over to The Alley to meet Meg.
The moment I pull in next to her, the door of her car swings open and out she comes, her furrowed brow disappearing beneath her wooly red hat.
I throw open my door in time to hear her say, “You know I hate it when you leave me hanging.”
“I know.” That’s why it’s so fun to do it.
Her laughter puffs like white smoke in the frigid January air. “Well, don’t leave me hanging now. Tell me what you found.”
I unzip my coat and throw open the lapels with a flourish, revealing the most glorious surprise beneath.
Meg bounces on her toes, her golden hair swishing as she screeches with excitement. “No way! Bowling shirts?”
“That’s right.” Every few weeks I swing by the thrift store to search for hidden treasures (thanks, Antiques Roadshow).
Today’s foraging session has borne more fruit than I could have ever imagined.
“There were four in total, so I splurged.” Another treat to celebrate the promotion.
The whole set cost twenty bucks, probably because the thrift store didn’t think anyone would wear mismatched shirts embroidered with the names Harry, Erwin, Glenn, and Ash over the breast pocket.
Joke’s on them.
I’ve already claimed Harry as my own.
“Who do you feel like being tonight? Erwin, Glenn, or Ash?”
“Erwin, obviously.” She swipes the hanger out of my hand and sheds her coat, leaving it in the back of my car and swapping her navy sweater for the red-and-blue striped button-up. “These are fantastic. Dave is going to love them.”
My thoughts exactly. We might not look like a team, but at least we look like bowlers. “Shall we take these for a test drive?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Meg stacks her feet onto the chair next to her, a plate of nachos balanced on her chest. “Hold up. Ratbag is still texting you?”
We have one more frame to bowl before Josh and all other negative subjects are no longer allowed.
It’s something we used to do during our wine nights and the best way to end the evening on a high instead of going home more depressed than we arrived.
Back then, we used to count glasses. Now we count frames.
We’ve already talked about Meg’s jerk of an ex, whose favorite pastime is gaslighting, and her parents’ desire for her to marry and produce babies with just about anyone they can find.
Her mother fixed her up on four dates while she was back home, which is impressive considering she was only there for five days in total.
“Yup.” For some reason, Josh keeps texting and calling every other day. To be honest, I’m shocked he hasn’t driven out to where I live. Or maybe he has, and I just haven’t been home.
The new job has kept me pretty busy.
The chip crunches between her teeth, spilling crumbs back into the plastic container, thus the reason she puts it there. “What does he want?”
“To talk.”
“About what?”
“Hell if I know.” And I’ve no desire to find out. I grab the plain black bowling ball I’ve claimed as my own and make my way to the start of the lane. We’re only four frames in and already I’ve knocked down more pins than the entirety of our last game.
We haven’t even used the bumpers, either.
When we arrived, we found Dave behind the counter, having swapped his cigarette for a chewed-up blue ink pen. Our lane was free, and Sally dropped down two beers before we had even changed shoes.
I pull back and slide the ball down the center of the tiny arrows printed on the boards.
Come on.
Come onnn...
For some reason, my body leans to the right like the ball and I are connected and it’s going to listen to me instead of veering left and—
Gutter ball.
Meg snorts when I head back, and I knock her feet to the ground so I can plop down next to her and steal a nacho.
She hands me the whole plate, swipes her hands down her jeans, and pushes to her feet with a groan. “Maybe they should call us the Unlucky Strikes.” She tugs her collar, referring to the Lucky Strikes decal emblazoned on the back of her shirt.
Mine only has a couple of bowling pins. I’m a little jealous, but the name tag is what won me over in the first place.
“Enough about my lack of skills and my problems. What’re you going to do about your ex?” An ex whose name I still don’t know. She’s referred to him as everything from the “devil himself” to “turd burger” but has yet to reveal any identifying detail beyond his many faults.
Meg snags her ball from the return like it’s on fire. “Oh! Would you look at that? The fifth frame. No more depressing talk.”
“You sneaky little…” She kept me talking this whole time about my own issues. “I’m onto you now. I’m coming for you next week, Meg Benson.”
She holds up her free hand as she backs toward the lane. “Promises, promises.”
Meg knocks down three pins, and my luck finally changes with a spare.
She taps her can against mine. “So, Head of Traffic Managers, huh? That’s exciting.”
“I still can’t believe it. Feels like I haven’t been there long enough to deserve a promotion.”
“Whatever. You’re amazing and they noticed. You deserve it.”
Rebecca is the one who noticed. And how did I thank her? By ruining her relationship.
Since we’ve finished our bitching for the night, that little guilt trip will have to wait until next Wednesday.
“Honestly, the best part will be the job security.” Being a temp sucks. Not that you can’t get fired from any job, but being contracted puts your neck on the chopping block first.
“Not the paycheck?”
“That too.” Thanks to my raise, I can pay for this whole night and still have money for a nice lunch tomorrow.
Is this how normal people feel? The ones who didn’t spend their entire life savings paying off debt and then relocate on a whim?
It’s nice. Freeing.
I take my turn, knocking down four pins. We’re a long way off the other bowlers here, but at least we’ve reached double digits.
When I make it back to our table, Meg has traded the nachos for her beer. “So how’s the house hunting going?” Ever since she made Media Buyer six months ago, she’s been on the hunt for a place of her own.
“Not bad. I still haven’t found anything I love that’s within my price range, but it’s fun to look. You won’t believe how many people around here still have those lacy valances printed with roses.”
“I forgot about those. My mom was obsessed with them when I was in elementary school.” That and wallpaper. I’ve heard wallpaper is making a comeback, but I doubt it’s the kind with little apples or roosters printed on it.
“Mine too. They’re awful.”
They are awful. It’s a wonder my apartment doesn’t have them.
Meg heads over to our lane, ball in hand.
Maybe someday I’ll have enough money to buy a house. My mom would lose her mind. When I told her about the promotion, she advised me not to take it. Like turning down an extra twenty thousand dollars a year was even an option. My dad, on the other hand, congratulated me.
I’m learning to be content with a fifty-percent approval rating.
“You’re up, Great Pipes.”
I push to my feet, grab my ball, and bowl a freaking strike.
With my hands in the air, I whirl to see Meg standing on her chair shouting while Sally and Dave whoop from where they were flirting in front of the snack stand.
The other bowlers hoot and holler, one of them whistling so loudly the sound pierces my eardrum.
Now that the mess with my ex is behind me, maybe this really will be my year.