Julie looked up to see the tail end of Liz’s eyes rolling. “What?” Julie asked, her brows twisting into a grimace.
“Did you hear anything I’ve been saying?” Liz snapped, her cinnamon skin flushed from a mix of hundred-degree heat, and apparently anger.
“Um…”
“Exactly. That’s what I’m talking about. You don’t listen. Part one of the plan is to see who else is out there. You know, like a ‘whole sea of fish,’ or however the saying goes.” Liz’s hands flew up into widespread dramatic air quotes.
As much as Julie wanted to ignore her friend’s advice, she couldn’t brush it off right away. If this breakup was for real, Patrick might not ever come to his senses. In which case, why was she sitting around waiting for him, or planning to show up on his doorstep?
To say what? Hi? Was she really going to be sitting around waiting for him?
The more she thought about it, the more she thought about the digs he’d thrown. And in turn, the more incensed Julie became. Plus, if there were men out there like hot truck guy, casting her line for the other fish might not be so bad.
Liz snapped her index finger and thumb directly next to Julie’s ear. “Before you go crawling back to that hijo de la gran madre,” Liz said with a litany of Rs rolling from her tongue, “I want you to remember what he did and what he called you. Don’t you have any kind of pride?”
That was easy for Liz to say. She had a gorgeous boyfriend who was dying to marry her and make a shitload of cute little Puerto Rican and black babies, and she was holding him at bay. In the last couple of months, no one had been beating down Julie’s door. So, no, Julie didn’t have much…well…maybe she did have an inkling of pride left.
More than anything, Julie hated how she only seemed to remember the good times. Patrick had walked out on her, and she was willing to take him back without so much as an apology. What did that say about her?
Boring. Sick. Tired.
The words rolled through her mind on an endless loop since the night they broke up.
“All I’m saying, Jules, is that you can’t lay around all day watching romance movies on Netflix and ordering from UberEats. You look better today but it’s going to take more than a new outfit and YouTube tutorials on contouring and brow-shaping to boost your fragile little ego.”
“I know,” she snapped back, those three toxic words infecting her. Boring. Sick. Tired. “What the hell do you want me to do, Liz? Do you think I like this whole pity party thing I’ve got going on? No, I don’t. But right now, a new dress makes me feel pretty, okay.
And yes, I’ve been eating my feelings. Guess what? As soon as that waitress drags her ass over here, I’m going to order a stack of buttery, fatty, carby pancakes and scarf them down like a totally boring, slob lard.” Julie expelled a haughty breath and cranked her neck back, her crown of natural chestnut curls springing to life over her silken brown skin.
It was a mouthful, but Julie had to yell to keep from crying.
“Speaking of which…that dress though. Yass,” Liz said, dialing back her harsh criticism. She must have known that she was teetering on that edge between being a mirror and just being a plain old bitch. “I don’t know if I could pull off orange, but you are wearing it, girl.” She gave an appreciative smirk, batting her lashes, which was basically a plea for forgiveness of her brutal honesty.
“Uh huh.” Julie pursed her lips, pushing her cheekbones high off their perch.
“I’m just saying that you’re hot. I can’t wait ‘til you remember that.”
Julie lowered her gaze and Liz continued despite her friend’s bruised ego. “You have curves and flawless caramel skin. You’re lucky enough to have ass and boobs. And don’t even get me started on your eyes. What real person that you know has fucking flecks of gold in their eyes?” Liz’s brows wrinkled as if such a notion was unfathomable.
“Every guy in this place…shit, every guy who has walked by in the past twenty minutes has taken a double-take,” she continued. “So the hell what if you have a few extra pounds, get over it. We can get you in shape, but his ass does not deserve you, and you don’t deserve to feel like your life is over just because he isn’t in it anymore.”
“Okay, okay.” Julie scanned the crowd. Liz was loud and her tone tended to border on aggressive.
“It’s not okay,” Liz chided her. “Snap out of it. Shit.”
Her eyes bulged and her hands shook in agitation, but Julie was the one who felt small.
“I need a drink. You need a drink,” she said.
Julie giggled at how fast their little chat had gone form zero to sixty in two seconds flat. Hell, she could use a drink.
Liz raised her quarter-full glass to Julie. “To my beautiful best friend. May she find a man who is well-endowed…” she paused, and Julie reveled in the depths of Liz’s perverted mind. “With a sexy, nerdy brain to turn her on. Let him have a body made for sin and a heart up to the task of caring for hers.”
From your mouth to God’s ears.
Julie stifled the urge to say amen as she clinked her empty glass since a waitress had yet to pass. It was evident that she needed help from a higher power. Maybe there was someone else out there. If her luck hadn’t run out, maybe God could make traffic spark twice.
What was the other part?” Julie asked.
“Huh?”
“Well, you said the first part was to start checking out the rest of the fish in the sea. So? What’s the second part?”
Leaning her head back, Liz wrapped both hands around her hair and twisted it up into a huge messy bun with loose tendrils hanging on the sides. “If you decide to put on your big girl panties, Derrick might still hook you up with his hot ass friend.”
“Speaking of which…” Julie trailed off.
Liz halted her glass halfway to her lips. “Excuse me? Don’t tell me you’ve been holding out.”
A mischievous grin pulled at the corners of Julie’s mouth. “If you want to hook me up with someone, find the guy I saw in traffic on the way here. I would easily drop my big girl panties for him.”
“Nope. Nope.” Liz closed her eyes and shook her head like she was giving testimony at church with one hand raised for praise. “Start at the beginning and don’t leave anything out.”
Julie recounted every detail from the instant the second cop sped by and she noticed hot truck guy all the way until he drove off into the proverbial sunset. All the while, Liz did not blink nor close her mouth.
“Girl…” the word dragged out and lingered on her tongue. “Damn. That’s some kismet type shit.”
“Right?”
“So what are you going to do?”
“What do you mean, what I am going to do? I didn’t get his number. That’s it. The moment has passed.” Julie threw her hands up in the air and let them fall to her lap.
“Did you get his license plate?”
The question was logical, although kind of creepy. Julie wasn’t exactly in detective mode at the moment. She’d been too hung up on the fact that their paths had crossed at all and the weighted feeling that she’d never see him again. But now, the simplicity of such a suggestion, made her feel like an idiot for not thinking of it herself.
“Uh, no. I was too busy answering your call, Miss impatient.” Duh.
“Damn. We have to do something.”
A sputtered laugh escaped Julie’s mouth. “Okay Sherlock, we’ve got no clues. No plate. No name. All we know is that he’s hot and he drives a black pickup with all the bells and whistles.”
“I’ve got ways,” Liz said, fingering her brow, staring into space with a narrowed gaze.
“Then, by all means. Please find my dream guy.”
A middle-aged waitress with lavender hair and precision-lined red lips approached as if to save Julie from her best friend’s relentless digging and deducing.
“Hi there, honey. I’m Jo and I’ll be taking care of you today,” she said in a deep baritone.
This woman was fierce with style for days. In this day and age, Julie had just about seen and heard everything, but for some reason, she wasn’t expecting that voice on this woman. The way she embraced her uniqueness was awesome, but the Southern twang threw her for a loop. More than anything, it surprised her.
“You’re going to have to drink these two down fast if you want to catch up with this one,” she offered as she placed one mimosa in front of Liz and two more brimming flutes in front of Julie. “Can I get you anything else?”
In her large hand, a pencil lay perched at the ready to jot down their order.
“I’ll take the short stack with a side of eggs over easy…and the—”
“Shit. I’m so sorry, honey. I didn’t realize. Should I bring out two virgins instead?”
Julie looked up for the first time into the waitress’ cool blue eyes. They were centered on her and overflowing with worry.
Liz and Julie eyed each other. They’d come to know each other on an organic level. Without a word shared between them, a look would communicate anything from emotion to full-on instructions. Now, their furrowed brows and pursed lips let on that they were both confused and borderline annoyed.
“I’m sorry?” Julie returned her gaze to the waitress, her brow pinched in bafflement.
“How far along are you, sweetheart?” She nodded her head toward Julie’s stomach.
Not long after Patrick gave up on her, Julie gave up on the gym. In between her movies and food and crying, she hadn’t found the time to lift a finger, let alone a weight, or leg, or her butt up off the couch.
She looked down now at her stomach. Not that it would’ve made a major difference, but she’d forgotten to put on Spanx and now her pooch curdled up into a round bagel formation beneath her fitted dress.
Julie felt the blood rush to her cheeks and the familiar sting at the corners of her eyes. “Not far enough,” she muttered under her breath.
Before the damn waitress could say another word to show off her lack of home training, Liz took charge and wrapped the side-winding conversation up. “Thanks honey, we’re good here.” The words were pleasant, but the tone was way more vinegar than honey.
But the purple-haired Southern Belle didn’t take the hint. She stood with her big feet rooted in front of her with a blank expression, the wheels still making their way around the empty space upstairs. Then the recognition pulled her eyes wide and her lips into a full-circle O.
Her eyes bulged as she sucked in the thick air between them. “Oh shit, I’ve gone and done it again. I have a horrible habit of sticking my foot in my mouth. You’re not pregnant, are you?” she asked, all doe-eyed and innocent. She was looking down at them over the bridge of her nose, which only in that moment did Julie realize was crooked as a wayward tree branch.
Julie simply shook her head and pulled the coral blue cloth napkin above her protruding waistline. It wasn’t hard to tell that the waitress didn’t have ill intentions, but the words hurt worse than sticks and stones. Because they’re true.
Perfect. Why not crush the rest of the small amount of dignity I have left?
The waitress cowered, shoulders slouched and her eyes locked on her notepad. “I’m going to go. Just let me know if you need anything. I’m truly sorry, I am.”
Julie and Liz watched as she beelined across the patio and slinked behind the bar.
Liz reached over the table and set her hand on Julie’s. “Jules,” she looked her dead in the eyes as if she might say something profound. Not one to disappoint, she finished her sentence with a statement that only she could say and have it mean as much as a tidbit from Oprah. “People are assholes. They don’t know when to shut their fucking mouths.”
At the slight lift and fall of Julie’s shoulders as laughter rumbled through her, she fell back against her chair and jolted up again almost instantly. “Well…it was going to be bad either way. Shit, you would’ve had way more problems than a few insignificant pounds if Patrick had knocked you up.”
She had to give it to her girl, the woman had a way of putting everything out there on the table. She was right of course, but Julie’s ego wasn’t any less bruised.
“Shit…you’re not, are you?”
Julie hurled her napkin straight for her face. “Bitch!”
Liz was her most crass and unfiltered, wild friend—and her best friend, for those same reasons. When the shit hit the fan, she had her back with love, and a much-needed dash of cynicism to keep it real.
“So…that happened,” Liz continued. She pressed at a few flyaway hairs and exhaled like the world was on her shoulders. She gulped down the rest of her third or fourth mimosa. “Well, fuck.” She sighed. “I guess we both know what the second part of the plan is, now.”
“Detox? No, no…that apple cider vinegar diet?”
“No, dunce. Revenge body.”