Desperate Chances
Page 13

I grabbed my keys and my purse. “I’m on my way. Have the spoons ready.”
Eventually Chunky Monkey became our code word. Whether I needed a quick rescue from the Cole and Vivian sex show or I just wanted to talk, I’d text Mitch the words Chunky Monkey and he’d either call or show up at my door.
No questions.
He was just there.
Then we’d spend the evening watching movies or playing video games. Or if he was on the road, he’d drop whatever he was doing and talk to me for hours about anything and everything.
After I had given up alcohol, Mitch Abrams had been the only escape I had needed. When the urge to get drunk consumed me, I had his sweet voice on the other end of the phone to remind me I could get through it.
My heart ached. I missed Mitch. Sometimes so much that it was like a physical pain. As if on cue Vivian’s moans filled the apartment and I rolled my eyes.
Without thinking I pulled out my phone and typed out a quick text.
I could really use some Chunky Monkey right about now.
I hit send before I could talk myself out of it.
And then I spent the next twenty minutes staring at the dark screen willing it to light up with an incoming message.
But it never came.
My phone remained silent.
Just as I knew it would.
I expected it, but that didn’t mean it didn’t feel like a knife right through the center of my chest.
“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to come. And you know how I hate to eat chicken wings and breadsticks by myself,” Maysie chided as I sat down across from her in the booth. She looked a little better than she had when she had first come into town. Her complexion wasn’t as sallow and the dark circles were almost gone.
“You look better,” I observed.
Maysie made a face. “I didn’t realize I looked bad .”
I swatted her hand. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant you were looking really tired.”
Maysie wiped her fingers on her napkin and took a drink of water. “I’ve just felt really worn down. I caught a stomach bug a couple of weeks ago. It was brutal. It’s taking me a while to get over it.”
“You really need to take care of yourself,” I scolded.
Maysie rolled her eyes. “You sound like Jordan.”
“Well Jordan’s right. This time. Though I’m surprised he handled you leaving him. How can he function without you?” I asked, only slightly teasing.
“He’s a big boy. He’ll be just fine. Besides it’s only until Friday,” Maysie remarked dismissively but she lit up at the mention of her fiancé’s name.
Jordan and Maysie really did have something special. They were so incredibly lucky. And on some level, I could admit that I was a little jealous of it.
Okay, a lot jealous.
Not that I wasn’t super happy that Maysie had found a love like that, I just selfishly wanted it for myself.
I could have had it. If I hadn’t callously thrown it away.
Nope. Self-flagellation was not on the menu this evening. Stop it, Gracie!
“Still sitting in the same booth, huh? Don’t feel like shaking things up and sitting at a high top this time?” I joked, getting rid of any remnants of negativity.
“No way. This booth has history,” she explained.
I knew better than to even suggest we sit somewhere else. Maysie always sat at this particular booth by the bar. Something about it being the same booth she was sitting in with Riley when she first met Jordan. My friend was overly sentimental and I loved her for it.
I reached over and picked up a breadstick and took a bite. I tried not to think about calories or how I shouldn’t eat this sort of thing.
My stomach protested and my brain screamed for me to stop eating. Yet another battle in the ongoing war inside my head.
In defiance, I picked up a chicken wing and ate it quickly, dropping the meat-free bone onto the plate.
Maysie was trying not to be obvious as she watched me but subtlety wasn’t her strong suit.
“Do I have bar-b-que sauce on my face?” I asked her pointedly, wiping at my lips.
Maysie flushed and looked ashamed. “Oh, no, not at all. They’re good right?” she fumbled, picking up a breadstick and shoving into her mouth.
“It’s cool, Mays. I get it,” I said, trying not sound irritated. All of my friends watched me. I felt their eyes. Their concern.
Is Gracie eating enough? Is she going to sneak into the bathroom and drink a fifth of Vodka? She’s looking so skinny, is she starving herself?
Everyone had those questions and I understood why. I wasn’t angry, just resigned that in the back of their minds those thoughts would always linger.
Mitch never looked at me that way. He never made me feel like I was under a microscope. He always made me feel… normal.
Ugh!
Why was I thinking of him so much lately? I had been good about blocking him out.
Lately I was starting to question things. Wondering whether I should do as Viv suggested, and finally talk to him. But so much time had passed. Too much time perhaps. I should have dealt with it a year ago but I had been barely able to pull myself together. I hadn’t been able to handle the implications of that one heart-wrenching night.
But I had done a lot of growing up in the last three hundred and sixty-five days. At some point I had stopped being the girl who forever swept things under the rug. I was trying to get a grip on my life and the thought had taken root that making things right with Mitch was an important step. And it seemed once I let Mr. Abrams back into my head, it was going to take an act of god to get him out again.