Ellie is Cool Now

Chapter 23

The burgers arrive and the blood in my arteries slows to a crawl at the sight. David ordered a plate of twice-baked potatoes and curly fries for the table, and Roxy is slathering sour cream on the edge of one with a steak knife. Why Shakey's has steak knives I'm too afraid to ask. Roxy didn't order her own burger. She keeps giving mine shifty glances, knife in hand, until finally I nudge the plate over for her to cut a bite.

Mark and I sit at one end, David and Stephen at the other, and Roxy in between. A couple other women I don't know have arrived, and I've already forgotten their names thanks to the fact that Mark has been drawing tiny circles on my palm with his thumb while we hold hands under the table. It's better than intoxicating and making me feel drunk on endorphins.

I don't want to let go, but I do want to stuff my face – despite the fact that I'm pretty sure this food will give me violent and immediate food poisoning. I try to pick up my burger with one hand and some of the contents spill out onto the plate. Roxy forks them up and adds them to her potato skin.

"So, tell us about this list," David calls down the table at me, mid-bite of his burger.

My eyes slide to Roxy, who remains intensely focused on her food. She must have told them while I was in the bathroom with Mark. For a split second, I wonder what step she's on in her recovery – four is making amends, I think — but then I remember the gallons of vodka she's consumed this weekend and rethink. Her helping me, unprovoked or requested, isn't about her sobriety. Though it might still be about making amends.

Who the fuck knows. This is Roxy we're talking about.

"Well, watching the game with you was on the list, as was hooking up with the prom king—"

"Please, dear God, tell me you're going to lie about that one," Stephen says with a cringe.

"I kissed Kyle on the cheek after Brock Crawley nearly assaulted me in his guest bathroom," I say. David nods, like he's not surprised in the slightest.

I launch into the story, including Brock's sad impersonation of Jay Gatsby drinking champagne by the pool. They are a riot of laughter and apologies, applause and mock dry heaving. All except Roxy, who has gone quiet, acting even shiftier than usual.

"Where were you during all this?" one of the other women at the table asks Mark. Francie, I think, is her name. I think David said she's his cousin?

I'm side-eying Roxy, trying to figure out what all her sudden weirdness is about, when Mark says, "I was with my fiancée."

Plunk. The word crashes to the center of the table like a lead weight.

Everyone gets awkward as fuck.

I reach for my water, taking a hefty gulp and not meeting anyone in the eyes. I am the other woman, Liz is the sweet potato pie victim, and sure, I still feel a little bit like the sludge that collects in the coffee pot at work, but also, Mark mentioned Liz and didn't let go of my hand. Even when I tensed up.

Plus, to say Liz is an innocent victim feels like a severe undersell. A victim wouldn't drive the other woman home. She would cry and cower and beg for her man back, she might attack, but she would not have a rational conversation about why the whole thing happened. She would not let the other woman out of that car with all her hair still attached to her head.

It dawns on me that maybe Liz doesn't and won't want Mark back after all, and I'm glad that realization doesn't make me want him any less, either.

I lace my fingers through Mark's and squeeze.

"She knows we're cheating horn dogs," I say, setting my cup back on the table. "So, everyone's looped in now. Can we move on?"

David whistles at my bold maneuvering. Mark grins widely at me before I let go of his hand to fish my phone out of my purse. Roxy is the only one who still looks tense. When I lift my phone, I hear another one buzz on the table and look over to see Roxy's stuck under the lip of her plate, lit up but obstructed.