26
I was pulling out of the bar’s parking lot when I remembered my mother’s birthday party. s**t! f**k!
I wanted to go home, put some ice on my swollen eye, and chase some ibuprofen down with a few belts of tequila. But I’d promised Jake, and by extension my mother, I’d be there. Bad enough I was late. But if I ghosted again, there’d be hell to pay. Italian Catholic guilt was nothing to sneeze at.
I pulled up in front of my parents’ place around seven o’clock. Jake’s truck was in their driveway, and Conor’s Dodge Charger was parked on the street. My hair and makeup were a wreck. I was still dressed in the revealing blouse and cutoff jeans I’d borrowed from Juanita. I had several messages on my phone from Conor and my family asking where I was. I slipped on a jacket from the go bag I kep
