Page 8 of Witchy Chick

“What?” I said, staring at the flier and then at him.

“I do maintenance, but it’s hard to get renters because its reputation isn’t great. But it’s available if you need a place. I’ve gotta go. Nice to meet you.” He got up and hurried out, pushing past other patrons with his big shoulders like he didn’t see them.

I watched him leave, depressed but bemused. Apparently my kiss was so amazing that it had scared him into running out of there. I fingered the flier, folded it, and put it in my purse since I had nowhere else for it then rested my elbows on the bar and caught the bartender’s sympathetic smile.

“Not the kind of guy you should be having fun with,” he noted as he slid another drink over to me.

“Not that it was fun,” I said then threw back that drink. It burned more than the last one.

“Scotch. Do you want me to call you a ride?”

“I’m not done tasting all the flavors of regret.”

“You’ve poured a lot of alcohol into your body. When it hits, it’s going to hit hard. I’ll call you a driver.”

I squinted at him. “I thought you were trying to upsell me.”

He shook his head. “I’m trying to sell you on having fun. But you’ve got more than stress going on. And we need you to keep carrying the world.”

I frowned at him while he turned and picked up his phone, apparently to get me a ride home. He gave me a water and the bill, and with that, I guess I was done. I didn’t know that bars were so conscientious. That was good, though, because when I tried to stand up, my lower body didn’t hold up my weight. I fell over, landing on a cranky guy in a business suit, bloodshot eyes, growling at me.

“Watch it!”

“Sorry.” I climbed back onto my bench and blinked, trying to get it together. Apparently, alcohol could hit very hard.

three

. . .

I woke up in the shower. No, because I had lettuce in my face. Why would I eat salad in the shower? The birds were so loud, and the water was cold on the back of my neck.

I slowly pushed myself up to my hands and stared at my neighbor’s house, bright sun glinting off her windows. The sprinkler. I was lying on my neighbor’s lawn. I didn’t have my shoes. I did have a robin standing on my hand. Only it didn’t look okay. It had holes for eyes, and its feathers were kind of ripped and torn. It turned, and there was a gaping hole in its chest.

I shrieked and scrambled back, throwing it off my hand. It flew into the road then a car promptly ran over it, the driver staring at me as she went by. Emily Marlow, who lived two houses down. Had she already taken her kids to school? And I was passed out on my neighbor’s lawn?

At least I’d gotten home after last night’s bad choices.

I got to my feet and jogged across the lawn. The robin must’ve died in my mouth for how bad it tasted. Not that the bird was dead. I mean, it was dead now, but before it had just been a normal bird that could still stand on my hand and move. Unless I was still caught up in the effects of the alcohol.

I got to the front door then had to search in my purse for keys. At least I had my purse even if I’d lost my shoes. I flipped past my wallet and the folded paper from the weird guy. The guy I’d kissed. My mouth felt even worse after that. What had I been thinking? First, I didn’t kiss people who weren’t my husband. Second, suppose a private detective got photos of that? It would put my own divorce claim at risk if I was also cheating. I wanted a no-contest divorce that didn’t spend months and years dragging through court.

I pulled out my phone and saw messages from Sage.

Mom! Where are you? Did you go to the early yoga session at the gym? I guess I’ll take the kids, but we’ll be late. We’ll have cold pizza for breakfast.

I winced. I’d neglected them terribly.

I frowned at the photo she’d attached of a body on the lawn.

Saving you from the trouble of sending me another reason not to do drugs.

Oh. Great. Now I wouldn’t have to send her a photo of myself and describe what not to do. She hadn’t recognized me. Nice.

I found my keys and went inside the house, which felt like a tomb, full of memories that were crushing me now that my heart was broken.

A memory from the night before came back of me in the backseat and the driver pulling over and ordering me out before I was sick. She hadn’t driven me all the way home, just left me a few blocks away, next to an empty lot, where I’d thrown up all the alcohol and the sandwich. And then I’d seen the dead robin and been so sad that it had died that I’d decided to take it home with me.

Okay. I officially needed to never, ever, ever drink alcohol again. I went to the bathroom and stared at my reflection for a long time. I’d never seen someone so clearly shattered. Was this what I looked like on the inside? Carrying-around-dead-birds drunk? Passing out on the neighbor’s lawn? Kissing some bearded stranger? Broken in heart, mind, and spirit.