Chapter 1: Fay
“Oh my God!” I said. “Don’t do that kind of thing to me, Courtney! You know I hate it when you do.”
“That’s right.” Courtney grinned at me from the space where she’d suddenly inserted her face in between me and my book. “I do. Which is probably why I do it. You realize that, don’t you?”
I rolled my eyes at her and pushed her head out of the way, gently enough so as not to hurt her but hard enough so that she knew I meant business. Or at least, hopefully she knew I meant business. Courtney Paige and I had been best friends for literally as long as I could remember. Such a long-lasting friendship was mostly a good thing, but it also had the unfortunate effect of giving her the ability to see right through me. She knew when I was actually angry and when I was just kind of annoyed, like right now.
Courtney knew I was just mildly annoyed, not actually pissed off at her. She allowed herself to be physically moved, but she showed no signs of actually leaving me in peace so that I could continue reading my book without interruption.
That was really too bad because I had a feeling the story was starting to get to a really good part, where the hero would finally tell the girl he’d been pining after how totally in love he was with her, and had been for years and years. I was a sucker for that kind of thing.
I probably would have gone right on reading for the rest of the day if I hadn’t been so rudely interrupted. Courtney, on the other hand, was a different story altogether. She had never been much of a fan of reading, and she seemed to have a particular hatred for the romance books I completely loved.
Courtney frowned at me, pretending to be stern. “Um, little lady, you do know that we’re at work, right? I mean, technically, that is?”
“Right,” I said. “What’s your point?”
“Well, I guess my point is that this is a diner, not a library. Do you really think you should just be sitting there at the counter, reading a book like you don’t give a shit who sees you?”
“Are you kidding me?” I asked, laughing. I grabbed a napkin to use as a bookmark before shutting my book. “You’re actually drinking a beer right now. We’re at work, as you so lovingly reminded me, and you’re drinking a beer. Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Totally different.” Courtney grinned before taking another long swig off of her longneck bottle. “Not even in the same ballpark.”
“Oh yeah? And how do you figure? I mean, how do you justify that drinking a beer on the job is more professional than reading a book while we wait around for even one customer to come in? I would really love to know.”
“Hmm, beer is part of the food industry? So at least I’m sticking with the correct genre? Sure, let’s go with that. Besides, it’s time for you to stop reading that crap anyway. You’ve got to know that by now, Fay. You aren’t a dreamy little girl anymore. You’re twenty-six years old, for Christ’s sake. Don’t you think it’s time to grow up some?”
And there it was. The thing at the heart of this recurring fight about my voracious reading. It wasn’t the actual reading Courtney had a problem with so much as the subject matter. She made no secret about objecting to my choice of entertainment. She hated romances. She didn’t just dislike them, but hated them. She hated them as if they had somehow managed to personally offend, even though they were only inanimate objects.
They were just stories. Just things I used to pass the time and add a little magic to my life. But to look at the scowl Courtney wore on her face now, you would think I was reading about Hitler.
She hated them like someone would hate the mean girl who bullied them in high school. I had never really been able to understand her hostility toward romance novels, despite her loud explanations for it. Explanations she was going to offer up all over again, by the look of it.
“Fay, you’ve got to stop filling your head with nonsense, okay? I mean, for real. What do you think it’s doing to your brain, filling it with so much crap?”
“But it’s not crap,” I insisted.
“Oh yeah? How do you figure? You aren’t telling me you think those stories are all realistic, are you? Because if that’s the case, we’ve got bigger problems than I thought. Like, ‘call the men in the white coats’ problems.”
I shook my head. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. Of course not. But stories don’t all have to be one hundred percent realistic to be worth reading.”
“But they aren’t worth reading. That’s my point! It’s all crap because life doesn’t work that way.”
The ringing of the little bell over the front door of the diner interrupted the momentum of Courtney’s impending tirade. At least, for the moment. We both looked up, mildly surprised at the intrusion, seeing as how people rarely ate in our little hole in the wall. Courtney took the man a menu and got him started, leaving me to mull over the things she’d been saying to me once again.
She kept trying to dissuade me from continuing my love affair with my romance novels. Over the years, she’d told me how stupid my fascination with these love stories w
as so many times, I couldn’t possibly have kept track. Not even if I’d wanted to, which I didn’t. I couldn’t think of a more depressing thing to keep a tally of.
Her basic argument was always the same. What was the point in getting myself all worked up and moony over a concept that didn’t exist it real life? What was the point of getting attached to the idea of happily-ever-afters when I was never going to get one of my own? In short, Courtney thought I was setting myself up for failure, and her constant nagging at me was her way of trying to protect me.
She meant well, and because of that, I never got angry at her about this old argument. It was the reason that I didn’t get angry with her right now. She was trying to look out for me. Her heart was in the right place. After the death of my mother, who’d raised me all by herself, Courtney was the only one who was willing to step up to the challenge.
“See, here’s the thing,” she said in her always just a little bit too loud voice, as if there had never been a break in the conversation. “You’re setting these expectations, Fay. You’re setting these expectations for yourself, and they’re never going to be met. You don’t know what it’s like out there, sweetie. Men aren’t walking Prince Charmings. Not even close. The sooner you get that idea out of your head, the better off you’ll be. And hey? Maybe you’ll finally be able to get rid of the V-card! God knows you need to before you hit thirty. Can you imagine?”
“Courtney!” I hissed. My cheeks flamed up a hot, bright red immediately at her mention of my lingering virginity. “Come on!”
“What?” She laughed, hopping up on the diner’s front lunch counter and swinging her legs nonchalantly. “It’s not like there’s anyone here to listen.”