And I completely wig out on him when Maren walks in the door.
I’m talking diving-under-the-table, pulling my coat over my head, mumbling something about needing to go to the bathroom and then locking myself inside the men’s room wigging out.
While I’m hiding, my phone rings.
And the name flashing on my screen makes me cringe hard enough that I give myself a headache.
I still answer it though. “Hey, Kami.”
“Muffy? Where are you and why are you whispering?”
“I’m backstage at an indie rock concert at the amphitheater.”
“Did you fall and hit your head this weekend too?”
“No, I’m in the middle of something, and I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I saw Tyler. He said you moved in with him.”
I make static noises with my mouth. “I ca—squaawaabasssshhhhaaa—think I—swishswishswish—later.”
She doesn’t immediately call back when I hang up, but someone starts knocking on the door, so I wouldn’t answer even if she did.
Yes, I moved in with Tyler.
But I don’t know what it means.
I unlock the bathroom door, peek past the startled gentleman trying to get in here, spot Maren looking at her phone while she waits for her coffee, and realize my only option is to dart through the little kitchen area and burst out the back door.
“Sorry sorry sorry,” I mutter, jacket pulled up over most of my face, as I brush past the afternoon manager. “Bad date. I’m gone. I’m out. Sorry.”
My heart’s basically in my uvula by the time I’m halfway down the alley, realizing I’m completely turned around and I have no idea where Tyler’s car is.
I am the worst live-in not-girlfriend ever.
Also, I really hope Rufus isn’t chewing on any plants.
I log into the app I pretend I don’t have on my phone and send a message to Roger, my “date,” and tell him something came up and I had to dash, but would he like to meet my friend Phoebe?
Tyler’s car is still in the garage near my first screening date, so I hoof it back there, calling my credit card company on the way to tell them my card was stolen, and asking them to please send a new card to Tyler’s address.
It’s better than the truth.
My mom thinks I’m way more successful than I am, so she borrows my card from time to time and dorks up my already lackluster credit.
Not that it matters.
Since I’m over my limit, they decline to replace anything, though they take note of my new address and promise to send all my billing statements there, and they put a freeze on the old card.
So when I get to Cod Pieces for the evening support group with my clients, I’m in the dumps. I’m not working tonight—not frying fish, anyway—which means I can relax and enjoy dinner without leaping up every time the doorbell or drive-through buzzer go off.
Brianna hands me a paper birthday crown when I slide into the booth by the window where she’s waiting with Phoebe. “You look sad.”
“We saw you on the news.” Phoebe’s also in a Cod Pieces birthday crown.
I know it’s neither of their birthdays, nor is it mine, but some days call for crowns, so I put my own on too. “You…what?”
“You were at a funeral this morning?” Brianna prompts.
Phoebe nods. “And with Daisy Carter-Kincaid there. Are you really dating her brother-in-law?”
“I—we—it’s complicated.”
Brianna nods. “I know you said you don’t date, but if you like him, and he likes you, go with it. Sometimes you have to take a leap, you know?”
My two clients don’t have a lot in common. While Phoebe’s into business, Brianna seems to be leaning toward studying something in science. Phoebe does water aerobics and takes cooking classes for fun. Brianna’s considering joining the weightlifting team at CVU and she knits while listening to poetry when she needs to chill.
Phoebe grew up in a small town in the Southwest.
Brianna grew up in an apartment downtown here in Copper Valley.
But they’re both peering at me with warmth and sympathy and a willingness to listen.
So what do I have to lose?
Both of them as clients?
“We’re friends, and I didn’t tell him I was a virgin before we hooked up a couple months ago, and neither one of us want a long-term relationship because we both have our own hang-ups, but…I like him.”
“Muffy!” Phoebe lunges for my hands, bumps my tray, and sends my fish and chips sliding into my lap. “Oh, shit.”
I leap up, picking everything up. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“Got your back, Muffy,” D’Angelo calls from behind the counter.
“No, no, it’s okay. It’s—”
Oh, shit.
Brianna’s crying.
She’s crying.
I lunge across the table to hug her. “Don’t cry. It’s okay. It’s okay.”
“I’m a virgin too,” she wails. “I thought I was the only one, but I’m not. I’m not alone.”
The entire restaurant falls silent.
I think even the shop next door goes silent.
Phoebe visibly tenses, then looks around at every last customer, finishing with D’Angelo behind the counter.
Most people go back to their fish.
Brianna hasn’t seemed to notice. I keep patting her back and telling her all the ways she’s amazing and that she shouldn’t judge herself for any part of her sexuality or experience level while D’Angelo continues to stare at us.
I have zero idea what he’s thinking, and I hope it’s nothing that means I’ll have to break up with him as friends.
But I would in a heartbeat.
After a minute, he frowns thoughtfully, turns, grabs the basket of fish and chips that slide down the chute, adds a fried pie, and carries them out to us.
Brianna wipes her eyes quickly, pushes me back, and stares at her lap.
“Hey.” D’Angelo lightly bumps her with a fist on the shoulder. “You’re a mother-freaking rock star. Got it?”
She mumbles something that sounds like banana gargle toilets.
“Chin up,” he tells her. “Anyone says anything wrong here, you and me are taking out the judgmental assholes together. ’Kay?”
She flashes an embarrassed smile at him.
He grins back. “Good. You’re in my biology class, aren’t you?”
She nods.
“Study group. Second-floor student lounge, right above the lecture hall. Wednesday. Noon. If you’re free, join us.”
She nods again.
And I’m relieved I don’t have to take him out, because I saw him take Tyler down last week, which means my odds of success aren’t good.
Also?
If Brianna can put herself out there and make a commitment, even for a study group while she waits for me to find the perfect man who’s worthy of her, maybe I should consider trying it too.
26
Tyler
Muffy’s not in my apartment.
It’s almost ten, and there’s no Muffy. No texts. No calls. No cryptic notes left anywhere.
I know she said she had stuff to do tonight too, but I don’t know what it was. Pretty sure it’s not working at Cod Pieces, because her uniforms are still in the bags I grabbed from her mom’s house.