Southern Comfort: Chapter 1

Southern Comfort

Chapter One

"Are you sure you don't mind Bella?" Jessica asks noncommittally.

"I'm sure, Jess," I mumble, trying to use the fact that I spilled nail polish on my rug as a distraction.

Jessica is so wrapped up in her own little world she can't tell I'm falling apart at the seams. Instead of realizing that she's clearly upsetting me, she continues to run her mouth. And for the first time in our short friendship I question my choice in befriending her.

"I mean," she says, tossing her impeccably straight, dishwater blond hair over her shoulder and turns back to her toes. "I always thought the two of you would get together, but here you are, years later, and you haven't made a move."

"I know, Jess. I just said I didn't mind." I stare down at my dry toes and realize that no one will ever see the sparkly blue I just spent half an hour perfecting.

Living in the south we tend to eat, sleep and breathe in our boots. I have a pair of flip flops I wear when I shower at the gym, but other than that I am always wearing my cowboy boots or a pair of smart flats. Besides, it's winter and even though we don't get snow, it's still too cold for sandals.

"Well then you don't mind giving me his number? I'd like to call him now before I lose my courage." In an effort to be funny, ironic even, she takes another sip of her margarita.

As if on auto-pilot, I close my polish container and reach for my phone, even though I don't need it. In seven years of friendship the least I could do was memorize his phone number. I'm fumbling through my contact list as a distraction because I'm afraid the tears burning in the corners of my eyes are going to fall any second now and I don't want to give Jess the satisfaction. If I can give her the number and push her out the door, I'll be free to break down in solitude.

He's my speed dial number 1 and I'm positive that Jessica knows that, but she doesn't say anything as I press unnecessary buttons before rattling the number off.

"Wait a second!" she screeches, reaching for her phone and punching the numbers in as quickly as she can. "Five-Five-Five-Oh-Two-Two-Seven?"

I nod and stand up to grab something to clean the spot on my carpet. I haven't even made it to the kitchen before I hear her talking.

"Hi Eddie."

Her voice is like nails on a chalkboard, something Edward (he despises being called anything but) joked about frequently.

"I got your number from Bella because I wanted to ask you something." I know she's ignored his demand that she not call him by her pet name for him.

"She's in the kitchen because she wanted to give me privacy. Yes, she knows I'm calling you." Huh. That's funny. I thought I was getting a rag and some carpet cleaner.

"Well we have the winter carnival ending tomorrow night, and I was wondering if you wanted to maybe go with me?" I wait for a second and Jess's voice drops down before she's back to her loud attention seeking volume. "Sounds great! You can pick me up at six thirty. Buh bye!"

I can hear her running to the kitchen excitedly and I fight the urge to crawl under my sink and sit amongst the cleaning supplies and stray spiders that inhabit the cupboard. She grabs my shoulders and spins me around so quickly, I bang my elbow on the counter. Shit! That smarts!

"He said yes. YES! Can you believe it? I have a date with Edward Cullen," she tells me, bouncing up and down in excitement. "Why are you crying?"

"Because I just banged my elbow pretty hard," I sniff. She's so self-conceited, she doesn't even realize I'm lying. And I'm a terrible liar.

"Oh, well I have to go find out what I'm going to wear." She pulls away and prattles off the different things she needs to do before tomorrow night. I watch from the side lines as she puts her polishes back in the tiny bag she'd brought over and walk her to the door.

She puts her coat around her shoulders before turning to me, and to add more fuel to the fire, she tells me, "Thank God you talked me into helping the decorating committee. I can't wait to use all of that mistletoe."

The door hasn't clicked shut before the tears spill over. My shaky hand barely manages to lock the dead bolt before a high keened sob rips through my body. I manage to get to my bedroom and close the door softly before crying my heart out.

My cell phone rings somewhere in the living room. Or maybe the kitchen? I can't remember where I left it. It's his ringtone. The phone beeps and the house phone rings seconds later, but I remain burrowed under my covers, wallowing in my very own misery and heartache.