And the coldest, most unfeeling woman Astrid had ever known. Astrid often feared her mother’s overinvolvement in her life would have severe repercussions, Isabel’s essence seeping into her daughter’s blood and bones, becoming part of her in a way that Astrid had no control over. And here was the proof—when shit went down, Astrid Parker was entitled, arrogant, and an all-around bitch.
“Shit,” she said, squeezing her temples between her thumb and forefinger. “I threatened her with a dry cleaning bill, for god’s sake. I need to apologize.”
“I think that ship has sailed,” Delilah said, waving toward where the burned-rubber smoke from the woman’s tires still drifted through the air.
“You’ll probably never see her again, if it makes you feel any better,” Iris said. “I didn’t recognize her. I would’ve remembered someone that hot.”
“Iris, Jesus Christ,” Claire said.
“Oh, come on, she was empirically gorgeous,” Iris said. “Did you see the overalls? The hair? Total queer core.”
Delilah laughed and even Claire cracked a smile at that. Astrid just felt a dull sense of loneliness she couldn’t explain. She’d been experiencing it more and more lately when she was around her friends, like they all understood something fundamental about life and love she couldn’t seem to grasp.
“We all have bad days,” Claire went on. “I’m sure she gets that.”
“You are too pure for this world, Claire Sutherland,” Iris said.
Claire rolled her eyes while Delilah grinned and pressed a kiss to her girlfriend’s head. The whole scene caused Astrid’s stomach to roil even more—the PDA, Claire’s constant positivity, Iris’s snark. The only one who gave it to her straight anymore was Delilah, and Astrid couldn’t bear to look her in the eye right now, not after going all Isabel Parker-Green.
“I need to get cleaned up at home,” she said, slipping off her other shoe to avoid limping down the sidewalk in one three-inch heel.
“I’ll come help,” Claire said.
“No, that’s okay,” Astrid said, untangling her arm from Claire’s grip and moving toward where she’d parked her car. She needed to be alone right now, get her head on right. Disaster of a morning notwithstanding, she was still the lead designer for the Everwood Inn, she was still going to be on Innside America, and she was still about to meet Natasha Rojas. No way in hell was one collision with a clumsy coffee drinker and a moment of extreme bitchiness going to ruin that for her now.
She’d kissed her friends goodbye and was halfway to her car when she thought to look at her phone for the woman’s name. Maybe she could send her an apologetic text, tell her, at the very least, that of course she would not be sending her the dry cleaning bill. She unlocked her phone, her bare feet coming to a halt as she stared down at the woman’s contact information.
There was no name.
There was only a number, saved under Delightful Human Who Ruined Your Ugly Dress.