Liars Like Us

26

Vivienne, ever the ladylike one in a flowered summer dress that would be pretty if it wasn’t so wrinkled and didn’t have that big red wine stain down the front, burps politely behind her hand, then grimaces. She leans her elbows on Taylor’s thighs and props her chin in her hands.

“Remind me never to mix red wine and fireball shots.”

I snort. “And remind me never to go drinking with three amateurs.”

From her chair, Harper says weakly, “Not everybody has an iron-clad liver.”

“Or a death wish. Why would you girls be mixing alcohol like that? You know better.”

There’s a pause that feels heavy, then Taylor cracks open her bloodshot eyes and gazes up at me. “I’ll tell you, but you have to promise not to freak out.”

“Great. Now I have to freak out.”

She sighs and sits up, crossing her ankles together and cradling her knees. “My mom and stepdad are getting a divorce.”

Examining her unhappy expression, I say, “I would’ve thought that would be good news.”

“It is. Except they’re selling the house.”

“Okay. And?”

“And my mom’s moving to Florida.”

“Florida? Why?”

She runs a hand through her choppy black hair and sighs again. “My grandparents. She’s moving in with them to get back on her feet. And I’d rather die than relocate to Sunnyside Retirement Village in Tampa, which means I’m out of a place to live, effective immediately.”

Harper chimes in, “Which wouldn’t be such a biggie, but now that she’s also out of a job—”

“Harper!” snaps Viv. “Be quiet!”

She listlessly waves a hand in the air. “Sorry, Em. I’m not trying to make you feel guilty.”

Trying or not, I do. I feel awful that Taylor’s in this position because of me. Setting aside the pad of paper, I say, “Don’t you have any friends you can stay with while you look for work?”

All three of them stare at me like I’ve eaten an entire bag of THC gummies.

Taylor isn’t exactly Ms. Popularity. In fact, she’s probably the most antisocial person I know. The only reason she was so good at her job at Lit Happens is because she loves books so much and can talk to strangers about them. Pretty much all other topics are nonstarters.

Harper says, “I’d have her move in with me, except we don’t have an extra bedroom. Even if we did, Cody’s sick so much…”

“And I’m allergic to kids,” Taylor finishes flatly.

Seeing my dismay, Viv says, “I told her she can stay with me if she wants, but she said no.”

“Why would I want to stay with you? I’d be safer living on the streets!”

When Viv sends Taylor an exasperated look, Taylor turns sheepish. “f**k. Sorry.”

I demand, “What does that mean, Viv? You’re having problems at your place?”

She scrubs her hands over her face, then drops them to her sides and nods. “Vandalism and stuff.” She glances away, lowering her voice. “Somebody keeps throwing rocks through my windows and breaking into the garage. I’ve already filed a bunch of police reports, but they won’t do anything.”

Taylor says bitterly, “You have to be dead before the cops do anything. My mom stopped calling them when my stepdad would smack her around, because it would take them forever to show up. When they did, it was always the same pair of sexist douchebags who acted like maybe she had it coming.”

I say, “That’s awful!”

Taylor shrugs, as if injustice is the way of the world.

I sometimes can’t believe that poor girl is only twenty-one years old. She has the air of someone who’s been dealing with heavy s**t for centuries.

Viv says, “So I need to find a new place. Only the place I’m in now is under rent control, so it’s super cheap…”

When she bites her lip, I realize she didn’t intend to reveal that. She didn’t want to make me feel worse than I already do.

But of course I feel worse, considering I know that first and last month’s rent plus a security deposit on a new apartment anywhere in LA that isn’t rent controlled will run her at the very least ten grand.

Which I know she doesn’t have.

And can’t save up for because she’s out of a job.

Because her boss is a f*****g loser.

When my eyes well with moisture, Viv runs around to my side of the counter and seizes my hands. Sounding dismayed, she cries, “No! Don’t be upset! None of this is your fault, Em!”

“Good f*****g going, Viv,” says Taylor in disgust. “You made her cry.”

“You’re the one who started it!”

Harper rises from the dead to shuffle toward us at the counter. “Nobody’s crying without me. If anybody here has a good reason to cry, it’s this girl. My cheap son-of-a-b***h ex-husband is taking me back to court to reduce his already miniscule childcare payments! What does he think I’m supposed to take care of my son with, my good looks?”

When Viv and Taylor glare at her in outrage, she stops where she is, makes a face, and pulls her shoulders up around her ears. “Oops.”

So that’s why they all had to go on a drinking binge.

I’ve ruined their lives.

Sabine and Murph have probably already carried out the suicide pact I imagine they made after that depressing dinner at Jameson’s.

I’m about to cover my face with my hands and burst into tears, but at that exact moment, Callum McCord walks through the front door.

He stops in the entry, looks at the one emotional and three bedraggled women staring at him, and produces a smile so blindingly gorgeous, we all suck in a collective breath.

“Good morning, ladies. Please pardon the interruption.”