“Go away, Erin,” I mumble from my perch on the kitchen floor. My sister knocks on my door for the fourth time in the past hour. I have no desire to see or speak to anyone right now. I need this time to be mad, sad, and whatever the hell else I want to be. Besides, I don’t think it would be good for anyone to ever see a health and fitness professional in my current state.
I’m sitting in my kitchen floor, every light in the house is off with the exception of the small flames flickering from the fake fireplace. I’m in between dressed and undressed—sweatpants and sports bra. My hair is pulled into a bun, but I seem to have forgotten a few strands hanging loosely to the side of my face that may or may not have chunks of frosting in them. My sad playlist is playing softly through my iPad. Sing it, Demi, cause I sure as shit need someone to tell me they love me on this day. Surrounding me are tissues that I used when I sobbed hysterically after I realized I picked up carrot cake cupcakes and the cupcake wrappers from said cupcakes.
Even though I hate carrot cake, I inhaled those little bitches like I hadn’t ate in days. In my hand I clutch a bottle of Peppermint schnapps, having already gone through the three bottles of Moscato I had in the house.
“Not, Erin,” the voice behind the door booms.
“Don’t care.” I chug another drink, cringing over the sharp taste. I forgot that I don’t like candy cane shit.
“Jo,” Bryn scolds, “you have three fuckin’ seconds to open
this door before I start taking shit apart.”
“Bryn”—I swallow the lump in my throat; I don’t want to
cry anymore tonight—“I can’t.”
“You leave me no choice,” she mutters. “Where is that damn
crowbar?”
At the sound of metal clanging, I know Erin and Kyle will lose their shit if Bryn’s crazy ass does any type of damage to this door.
“What the—” comes from Erin, but I don’t hear what comes after because I shriek, “Damnit, Bryn, wait!”
I haul my ass off the floor and wobble as I gain my footing. I’ve reached the completely sloshed portion of the evening. Hello, Drunk Jordan, thanks for stopping by. “I. Am. Coming.” I stomp to the front door.
After a couple tries, maybe like five, I get the deadbolt unfastened and the door opened. On the other side I find the very concerned, yet amused faces of my best friend and sister. They appraise my current state, and a complete look of confusion clouds both of their faces. It only takes seconds before those damn tears resurface, and all aboard for the hot mess express. I’m mumbling what I’m pretty sure ain’t even words, chugging schnapps between utterances of my new vocabulary, and flailing my hands about as I open the flood gates on every emotion and thought I currently have. Bryn or Erin have yet to get in a word because every time they open their mouths to speak, I spew more unintelligible words, sniff, or sob. Bryn leads me over to the couch, dodging the cupcake containers and wrappers.
Erin stops and studies the collection of trash and wine bottles littering my kitchen floor, then she looks up at Bryn and mutters, “Shit, this is bad, bad, bad.” Holding up a wrapper as if it holds the explanation of my meltdown. Bryn stares at Erin in shock, and I lock eyes with her because I know what she’s getting at. “You ate carrot cake.” She says it as a statement, not a question. I agree with a nod, which coincidentally ejects a piece of frosting from my lose strands. Would it be too gross if I picked that up to eat it?
“Could someone tell me what in the actual hell is going on?”
Bryn asks.
“This sugar and spice brings things not so nice,” Erin explains. “If whatever this is made her eat carrot cake, it’s bad.”
“It was an accident,” I mutter, hiccupping around sobs. I
intended to eat chocolate cake, but fuckin’ Gia.
“I have so many questions.” Bryn sighs “I have no clue how you eat cake by accident, but anyhoo; what the hell happened, Jo?”
The look of sincerity on her face is all it takes for me to
let it fly. “I lost my cobwebs.”
It takes mere moments for it to register with both Bryn and Erin what I mean.
“You had the sex?” my sister shouts out at the same time Bryn shouts, “The no-no box still works?”
“Yes, you’re both smartasses,” I answer them. “I had life-changing, incredible, passionate sex.”
The shit-eating grin on Bryn’s face tells me she knows who gave me the pleasure and made me cry. “With Madden.” Yet again, Bryn forms this as a statement not a question.
My sister’s face lights up as she exclaims, “Jo, sex shouldn’t make you cry.”
“When?” Bryn cuts in, her tone cautious.