6. L Is For Loser

SIX

L IS FOR LOSER

Dessa

Yesterday after leaving Porter's, I drove around aimlessly, still in disbelief that Garrett fucking Dawson is in Harbor Highlands. Never did I expect to see him in person ever again. As soon as I saw his boyish good looks, but with a rugged charm, an entire gauntlet of emotions smacked me across the face. Hurt. Anger. Betrayal. Surprise. Anxiety. Excitement. And back to anger. So much anger. It was information overload, and I blacked out. Luckily, Lach caught me before I smashed my head against the floor. Seeing and speaking to him is what did me in. Ten years of rage bubbled out of me. Anger I've been holding on to for so long erupted like a volcano. Garrett was the target. Rightfully so. It was all his doing from the start.

Eventually, my mood evened out. When I arrived home, I made myself my favorite drink, a vodka gimlet. Then I set off to create new drinks to calm my anxious nerves, but based on the wicked pounding in my head, it didn't help. I'm pretty sure I did more drinking than mixing. I rest my forearm over my eyes to shield the blinding sunlight, willing my stomach to jump off the merry-go-round.

The last I heard, Garrett and his brother weren't speaking, but again, that was years ago, so maybe they've made amends. It's been a few years since I've talked to Tony. We were civil after our breakup, but it still left a strain on our friendship. We rarely talked, only a passing like or comment on social media. For the most part, he stayed on his side of town, and I stayed on mine.

On a groan, I slide out of bed because rolling is not going to help my stomach situation. I pluck my bathrobe off the hook on my closet door, shrug it over my shoulders, and secure the tie around my waist. I trudge into the kitchen and open a cupboard door to find half a sleeve of saltine crackers. Something is better than nothing since I thought a liquid dinner would be a sufficient meal last night. On my way to the other side of the counter, I make a pit stop at the fridge and grab a bottle of water. I plop down on a stool and dump half the contents of the sleeve onto the laminate countertop. Picking up a cracker, I bring it to my mouth and nibble on the corner. Crumbs fall to the counter like snowflakes. I brush them into the sink and swallow the now cracker paste. My stomach clenches at the intrusion of food. Now is not the time to revolt. You need substance. No alcohol.

A muffled ding sounds from somewhere in the kitchen. Without moving my head too quickly, I glance around the counter and over at my dining room table, but my phone is nowhere to be found. It chimes again and I stand to follow the noise. I lift a couple of notebooks on the counter, push an empty bottle of cranberry juice to the side, but nothing. I freeze for a moment, willing it to sound again, but it's like waiting for the dying battery of a smoke detector to beep—it never happens when you're actively listening. Tired of waiting, I round the corner of the counter, but before I can sit, my phone chimes again. On a huff, I stroll back into the kitchen and pull open drawers and cabinet doors until I find my phone sitting next to a bottle of tequila. Seems like an appropriate place for me to leave my phone. Still better than the one time I found it duct taped to the side of a box of wine in my fridge. I must have figured I wouldn't lose the wine, so might as well make sure my phone was close by.

I unlock my phone, and a parade of messages floods the screen.

Rylee

Lach told me what happened. Well, half the story, so you need to fill in the rest.

Lach

Just wanted to check on you and make sure everything is okay.

Rylee

Why are you not answering?

Jake

Are you coming to work today?

Rylee

Pick up your phone.

Rylee

Answer Me.

Rylee

Okay. I'm coming over.

I hit respond, but before I can type a reply, a banging on the door startles me.

"Dessa, open up!"

I slide off the stool and groan, my body refusing the movement as I stumble to the entryway. Twisting the lock, I pull open the door and Rylee barrels across the threshold.

"Finally! I'm glad you're alive." Rylee wraps her arms around me in a hug.

I wince from her loud voice. "Alive might be a stretch. I'm physically here, and that's the best I can offer right now." I untangle myself from her and step out of the way so she can enter.

Once in the kitchen she drops her purse on the counter and spins to face me. "Explain. What happened yesterday? All I heard was you threw a beer at Garrett Dawson and Lach was covering your shift."

"Technically, it was two." Rylee's eyes widen to the size of a saltine cracker. I throw myself onto a stool next to her as she stands. "Let's say the ghost of ex-best friends past has made an appearance."

Her mouth falls open, then closes like a fish starving for water before she leans forward. "Hold your panties. You're friends with Garrett Dawson?"

I swallow a gulp of water, not entirely sure if I want to rehash our history so soon. "Past tense. We were friends. All that's left is hate and resentment."

She rests her elbows on the counter. "How did I not know this? Why didn't you tell me you knew Garrett Dawson?"

"Something happened ten years ago that I chose to block out. "

Rylee takes the seat next to me and props her head on her hand. "It must have been serious."

"As serious as losing your best friend can be." I give Rylee the CliffsNotes version of my friendship with Garrett since she won't stop prying until I do. I start with how I dated his brother Tony and end with how Garrett left without saying goodbye and basically disappeared from the face of the earth. The only reason I knew he still existed was seeing him on TV during baseball season and in the tabloids during the offseason, holding hands with this actress and that super model. It all got very tiresome.

"Damn. I can't believe you were friends with Garrett Dawson, and even more so that you never told me."

"You don't always need to refer to him as Garrett Dawson . Back then, he wasn't the big Home Run Playboy he is now." The home run part has always been true, but not the playboy. As far as I know, he didn't date during our senior year. He was always busy doing something baseball related, even during the offseason. Granted, all my time was spent with Tony, and I couldn't pay that much attention.

"Why is he back in town?" Rylee asks, pulling me from my thoughts.

"I don't know." I was too busy throwing beer in his face to ask. "If I had to guess, it's for his brother's wedding. The same wedding I got an invite to."

Her shoulders scrunch as her brows draw together. "You got an invite to your ex's wedding? Who does that?"

I shrug. "You got me. Clearly, I can't go. One: it's my ex. Two: Garrett's going to be there, and I'd rather not run into him any more than I already have."

Her phone chimes with an incoming message. She glances down and rolls her eyes. "Jake wants to know if you're coming to work today. "

I laugh. "I'm doing wonderful, Jake. Thanks for your concern."

Her phone chimes again.

Another chuckle escapes my throat. "Put him out of his misery and tell him I'll be in."

She glances at the message. "Actually, it's Trey." She tilts her head as she reads. "He needs me to buy pink paint, popsicle sticks, baby carrots, glitter, and latex gloves."

I nod along to her list. "That's an interesting combination."

"If I had to guess, the paint, glitter, and popsicle sticks are for some artsy thing with the girls. The latex gloves will be for his hands, so his dick doesn't sparkle like a princess wand like last time."

"That's a visual I didn't need today."

"Trust me, I didn't need to see it either, but he insisted on showing me. It was every bit as hilarious as you would expect." She smiles fondly at the thought of Trey. On the outside they seem like an unlikely pair, but they bring out the best in each other. And my best friend deserves all the happiness after dealing with her ex.

"And the baby carrots?"

She huffs. "He'll want a snack. I wanted to stop by and make sure you're okay, but I better get going. I have to make sure the house doesn't turn into a real-life glitter bomb."

"Or he's turning your house into an actual princess castle." I shrug. Trey's the father of two girls. One is Rylee's that he adopted, but he treats her as if she's his own. Of course, he treats them both like the princesses they are, and Rylee is their queen.

"Alright. We'll chat later. If anything new regarding Garrett comes up, you have to tell me. "

"You'll be waiting a while since I'm avoiding him at all costs."

"Either way, this is more interesting than my life." She wraps her arms around me in a hug, then grabs her purse.

When the front door closes behind her, I rest my elbows on the counter and pick up another cracker, shoving it in my mouth. I guess I'll stop being a miserable piece of shit and be productive.

An hour later, I'm stepping out of the shower feeling semi-human, at least human enough to go out in public. I haphazardly twist my hair into a messy bun, slide into a pair of black leggings, and shove an oversize hoodie over my head. It's not my worst ensemble, but definitely not my best. I apply a light dusting of make-up to at least disguise the bags under my eyes and avoid scaring small children at the grocery store. Saturday mornings are my favorite time to shop. There's always fewer people. But today I'm running a little later than scheduled and vodka is the only one to blame.

At the store, I push my cart full of spinach, onions, rice, avocados, and granola down the aisle. My last stop is the juice aisle to replenish my stock from last night. As I reach for a bottle of cranberry juice, I hear my name. When I glance over my shoulder, Mrs. Dawson, wearing a bright pink blouse, is waving her hand as if she's trying to stop traffic. She power-walks toward me, the wheel on her grocery cart squeaking louder with each turn.

"Dessa. I thought that was you. It was so hard to tell with the new hair color, but I'll never forget your face." Her cart comes to a halt next to mine.

"Hi, Mrs. Dawson. It's such a pleasant surprise to run into you here."

"Normally I'm not on this side of town?—"

Which is precisely why it's the one I go to .

"But we were having brunch to talk about all things wedding. Speaking of which, I hope your mom gave you the invite."

"She did. Thank you." I force a smile. An invite to a wedding I really don't want to go to. Lucky me.

"I didn't have your address, so I was happy I ran into your mom to pass it along, but if I'd known I was going to run into you at the grocery store, I would have given it to you myself," she says cheerfully.

Janice Dawson has always been on the right side of optimistic. Growing up, I never once saw her mad or even slightly upset. The sun always shines in her world. It wouldn't surprise me if she carried the invite around just in case we ran in to each other. I'm sure she has a stack of invitations in her purse at the ready to pass out to anyone she forgot. She always hated leaving someone out.

"But your mom mentioned you have a townhouse on Chestnut Street. That's a pleasant neighborhood."

"I do. I've lived there for about five years."

"That's great. I hope you'll be able to make it." A hopeful expression fills her face.

"Oh. I don't know—" I lift my shoulders in a half shrug. I hate being put on the spot.

"The whole family is going to be in town. Everyone would love to see you again."

"I'm not sure. I'll have to check my calendar." Calendar checked, and it's wide open, but I'm still not going to the wedding.

"And you have to meet Georgia, Tony's soon-to-be-wife." She pulls her phone from her purse and flashes me a picture of Georgia and Tony. "She's such a lovely lady. You two would get along fantastically."

"They look beautiful together." I stare at the picture, mostly because all other words have evaded me. They look happy together, and I'm glad Tony's found someone, but hanging out with my ex-boyfriend's soon-to-be-wife sounds awful. A root canal sounds more enjoyable.

"It's great you stayed friends with Tony." Her eyes soften as she offers me a small smile.

I nod. If by "friends," she means the occasional social media comment, then sure, we're friends.

She rests a hand on my forearm, and her eyes light up with delight. "I heard you ran into Garrett."

My chest tightens. If "ran into him" is the same as yelling at him and throwing beer on him. Twice. Then yes, I totally ran into him. "I did." I give her a tight-lipped smile.

"It will be so great to have the three peas in a pod together again." Janice's smile is infectious even though I'm not in the smiley mood.

Since I was eight years old, Tony, Garrett, and I always hung out. The three of us were the only kids on our street, so it was natural for us to become friends. Things changed going into our senior year, then everything completely disintegrated after graduation.

"Oh, I'm not sure about that," I mutter under my breath.

"And feel free to bring a date. I'm sure some handsome man has snatched you up."

"Well… Um…" Actually no, but I don't tell her that. "I don't know if I'll be able to?—"

"Everyone is going to be so excited to see you." She clasps her hands in front of her as if this is already a done deal.

Great. Only for them to learn I've been in the same spot as I was ten years ago, but now with dyed hair.

"It's been so long since the family has seen you, especially Nana. She always adored you. It's getting harder for her to travel. She won't be able to make too many more trips to Harbor Highlands." She flashes me a warm smile.

Dammit. If anything could guilt trip me, it would be Nana. She's the sweetest woman in the entire world. Clenching my teeth, I plaster on a wide smile, hoping it looks genuine. "I can't wait to see everyone." I'm doing this for Nana. But I can't go alone. I need a date.

I'm screwed, completely, utterly, royally screwed—not the fun kind either. This is borderline backdoor-without-lube kind of screwed. Not that I know from experience; it just doesn't sound pleasant. Panic grips me as I scour through my contacts on my phone, desperately seeking someone, anyone, who could be my last-minute wedding date.

Lach walks past me. "Growing up did your parents ever tell you if you make a face for so long it will eventually stay that way forever?"

My gaze slowly lifts from my phone to Lach. "Probably."

"Okay. Because you have been scrunching your face for the past ten minutes, and I'm afraid it's going to become a permanent look. I assure you guys are not into angry eyebrows."

I purse my lips. "Fine then. You can help me. I need a favor."

"Anything." He sets a case of beer on the edge of the cooler.

"I need you to be my date to a wedding." I hold my breath, waiting for his answer.

"Anything but that."

I prop my hands on my hips. "Why? "

"It's a wedding."

"It's a date for a wedding."

"Single guys like me go to weddings to hook up with the single bridesmaids. I can't do that if I'm going with you as a date." He quirks an eyebrow at me.

I shake my head. "I don't care what you do. Hookup with whoever you want, including the bridesmaids."

Without looking up, he places the bottles in the cooler two at a time. "But I look like the asshole for hooking up with other people while on a date with someone else. I have a reputation to uphold."

"Do you want me to write you a permission slip?" A figurative light bulb sparks above my head. "I got it! I could dump you at the wedding and then you could play the guy with the broken heart. Girls gobble that shit up. They would be more than willing to make you forget all about her or me in this case." I flash him a dazzling smile, praying he takes the bait. I need him to say yes. "Even though I would be hard to get over."

"Don't flatter yourself. But your idea could work." He rubs his chin.

"Great! So you'll do it?"

"No."

I roll my eyes and huff. "You're a terrible friend." I spin around and face my boss. "Jake. Want to help out your favorite employee?" I flash him a smile so radiant it could rival the sun.

"There are a lot of things wrong with your sentence. For starters, I don't do favors," Jake deadpans.

"Today is a good day to start. It's at the end of the week. You can pick me up or we can even meet there if you'd like. But dress nice. Like you care."

"Whose wedding is it, anyway?" Lach asks.

"Tony Dawson. "

"Oh. So Garrett's going," Jake says. "Yeah, I'm steering clear of that."

"What do you mean ‘steering clear of that'? There's nothing to steer clear of." I prop my hand on my hip.

Jake scoffs. "Nope. I'll be busy washing my hair that night."

"I hate you both," I mumble. "See if you ever get a favor out of me."

"Good thing I won't ask." Jake closes the cash register with a heavy thud. Then he and Lach stride toward the hallway, I'm sure to think of more dumb excuses for why they won't be my date.

Nora approaches me from the other end of the bar. "So you decided to go to the wedding?"

"It's not that I want to go, but Tony's mom conned me into going. If I arrive dateless at my ex-boyfriend's wedding, people will give me nothing but pity glances. Since I've known most of these people my whole life, I don't want to be that person." Arriving with a date at least gives the impression that I'm not a twenty-eight-year-old, single woman who's done nothing with her life and that I'm not in the same place I was ten years ago. Even though I am. I huff out an exasperated breath.

She rests her hip against the cooler. "Where do you expect to find a date?"

"That's a very good question, since my phone has produced nothing but duds and my two friends are jerks. The dating pool is severely lacking."

"You could ask Trey to hook you up with one of the guys from SBL."

I create a mental lineup of the guys who've been to Trey's Single Bros Life meetings. Even though he's no longer single he still holds meetings for a guys' night. As each guy flashes in front of me, I don't want to walk through the doors at my ex-boyfriend's wedding with any of them on my arm. Miles may be the only acceptable one, but even then, I don't get the vibe that he knows how to date. "Why isn't there an app for dating?"

"There's lots of apps, but are you willing to put out at the end?" Nora raises a questioning brow.

"No. Like an app to find a casual date for events like this. No hookups. No expectations. No strings attached kind of dates."

Nora taps her chin. "You might be on to something."

I rest my elbow on the bar top and slump my head in my hand. I'm going to a wedding where everyone has known me for years, and I've done absolutely nothing with my life. Might as well add a scarlet letter L to my dress for "loser." My gaze drifts to Nora. Desperation laces my tone as I ask, "You have a lot of friends—can I borrow one for a night?"

"Correction. I've gone on a lot of dates. Some have certainly gone better than others, but I might know a few guys. What kind of date are you looking for? Someone to make the ex jealous or perhaps the ex-best friend?" She wiggles her eyebrows and I roll my eyes. "Okay. How about someone to intimidate the ex? Or someone the parents disapprove of? Even better, someone so sweet he gives you a toothache?"

I tap my chin, contemplating my choices as if I were picking food items off a drive-through menu. Jealous could work. I don't really need to intimidate anyone, but I like the sweet guy who'll show everyone I found a great catch. "Do you have someone who is sweet, but not overly sweet, and successful?"

She unlocks her phone and swipes her finger over the screen. "I can ask Brian. He's super sweet, I think because he's a mama's boy, but he does own his own business. When's the wedding?"

"December third."

"That's coming up quick. I'll send him a text."

My fingers drum nervously on the bar and my heart pounds as I anxiously await the answer. I might not have to go to this wedding alone. I do an internal happy dance. Hallelujah.

Her phone chimes with an incoming message and her lips press together. Disappointment etches her features as her gaze meets mine. "Brian's off the market. He's wifed up. I'm sorry."

My heart plummets to my stomach. Cut the music. This dance party just got shut down. "That's okay. Thanks for trying."

"If I think of anyone else, I'll let you know."

I nod. I'd better get my scarlet letter ready.