Make Me Yours

“You’re feeling good tonight. What are you not telling me? Did you get into your mom’s herbs?”

“Ha ha, very funny.” I laugh, but her question makes me pause. “You’re right, though, I do feel good… like something’s coming. Maybe the planets shifted.”

“I’ll take that forecast.” She goes into the bathroom to change. “Lord knows I could use a shift.”

Nibbling on the dumpling, I study my wardrobe, finally settling on a velvet sheath with a sheer black top and built-in bustier. “Velvet is supposedly out… now it’s lamé. And track suits.”

“I am not wearing a track suit.” Drew’s back looking like a hot tamale, and we freshen our makeup, pushing each other side to side with our hips in front of the mirror and laughing.

Next, I sit as she uses the curling iron to touch up the waves to my long, brown hair. “Maybe I should mix it up. Wear a wig?”

“No.” Our eyes meet briefly before she returns to checking my head for curl-holes.

With a sigh, I take another dumpling. “I’ve got to get a better job, D. I can’t live in this house anymore. It’s embarrassing.”

“Be patient. The clients will come.” She releases a smooth spiral across my eye, and I push it behind my ear. “Anyway, your mom likes having you here, especially since your dad died.”

“I’ll be twenty-three next year, and still living with my mother.”

“At least you’re gorgeous. Let’s go!”

She shakes her long, naturally wavy blonde hair—which I do not hate her for having—and we head for the door. “Just don’t completely lose it and go out with Ralph Stern.”

“If you’re truly my best friend, you will never let that happen.”

“I am your best friend.”

“Thank God.”

Patrons spill out the door of The Red Cat as we walk up. It’s the only bar in our tiny town-square, and the interior hasn’t been updated since Frank Sinatra was alive. Lava lamps dot around the inside, and blood-red shag carpet covers the floors, running all the way up the bar. The scent of cigarettes permeates the room, even though smoking in bars has been banned for years, and an ancient jukebox playing real records is blasting “That’s Amoré.”

“Are you kidding me?” Drew recoils. “The Red Cat is where old men hide out when they don’t want to go home.”

“It’s the hot new place!” I grab her hand and drag her through the door. “Strong drinks served cheap.”

We make our way slowly through the crowd when a loud male voice makes me cringe. “Ruby Roo!”

I spin around fast, pissed as hell at Dagwood Magee. He’s been calling me that Scooby Doo nickname since we were in high school.

“Stop yelling that! You’re messing with my hustle.” He only laughs and gives me a hug, leaving sweat on my face. I growl, wiping it off. “Gross.”

Drew is weirdly pleased to see him. “At least we know a big guy here… just in case.”

I order us two tequila sunrises while we wait at the bar, and even though it’s pretty packed, I’m not seeing anyone I know besides Dag. “How is it possible I don’t know anybody here?”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

Our drinks are in front of us, and I lift mine, taking a long sip. “So you’re not even looking for a man now?”

“You know how I feel.”

Drew has been pining after Grayson Cole since we were in high school. She waited for him all through college while he was overseas with the military, and then when he came back, he didn’t stay.

I can’t help being protective of my bestie. “He ghosted you, Drew.”

“He didn’t.” Her eyes are fixed on the drink she’s not drinking. “He’s doing what he has to do. Getting help.”

“You know I love you, and I think you’re a great therapist.” She nods, stabbing her drink with the skinny straw. “I just worry sometimes all your understanding and empathy ends up making you a doormat.”