“Let me know if you need me this weekend,” Deedee says, fighting her way past the dogs to the door. “I should be free.”
Her smile wavers and her eyes shine with unshed tears. If it weren’t for the slamming of car doors outside, I’d make her sit down at the kitchen table and let her tell me all about the breakup. Then I’d warn her away from all men with the Waters last name—or any name with the letters A-Z.
Deedee slips out the side door just as Val and Winnie come in. Elvis almost makes it inside, but Winnie manages to shoo him out with her peep-toe pumps. Val comes straight to me, giving me a massive hug I feel down to my bones.
“Thanks, Valley Girl.”
“Love ya, Linds.” She pats me twice on the shoulder and then grabs a few bottles of water.
I eye the ingredients Winnie is pulling out of a paper bag: vodka, limes, and what looks like a big pile of herbs. “Wow. This looks serious,” I say.
Winnie only snorts.
Val gives me an are you for real? face. “You got proposed to, chica. I’d say that’s serious.”
I stamp my foot. “How did y’all know?”
“Neighborly,” they say at the same time.
“Winnie, your app is genius but also evil.”
“Thank you,” she says.
I wouldn’t be shocked if people know what color underwear I’m wearing on any given day. Not that Winnie would let that kind of post stay up. She’s told me and Val many times that we don’t even want to know how many gross posts and photos she deletes on a weekly basis.
We move from the cramped kitchen to the cramped living room with waters and whatever drinks Winnie made. Val and I take the couch while Winnie perches on Jo’s reading chair, the worn denim glider Mama and I purchased when Jo was an infant.
“Are you sure we won’t wake Jo?” Val asks, glancing toward the door to Jo’s room.
“Nope. She sleeps like the dead.”
After she read the first Harry Potter book, Jo requested to move underneath the stairs. The tiny room was originally a canning room, extra pantry, or some kind of closet. It’s narrow and has only one small window, plus the slanted ceiling. She’s always liked little spaces, and there is barely enough room for her twin bed and all her books in there. You have to crawl in from the bottom of the mattress, which I do every night to snuggle her to sleep. I was supposed to install some bookshelves or have custom built-ins made, but it’s on the long list of projects I can’t afford. All the available space in the room has towers of books, organized by size and color.
“One post-proposal cocktail for you,” Winnie says, handing me a glass.
I stare down at it, hoping it’s not TOO much vodka. Even without Jo waking me up early, I’m not a big drinker. It’s hard to be when I have a sister who’s an addict. Alcohol was only her gateway to drugs, but still. Part of me worries I might start to like alcohol too much, and another part feels like I’m doing something wrong when I drink.
Tonight, though, I’m not going to argue.
“What is this?”
“I’m calling this a Dual Po-Pro,” Winnie says, and when Val and I just stare at her, she rolls her eyes. “Po-Pro for post-proposal and Dual because you got proposed to twice today. And don’t worry—it’s not very strong.”
Val takes a sip and gives an appreciative nod. “It should really be Duo or maybe Dos. Dual implies the proposals happened at the same time.”
“Fine. Dos Po-Pro,” Winnie says. “Happy now?”
“Yes.”
I take a sip, and it’s actually very refreshing. And a little … spicy? “What’s in it? It looked like you brought a whole salad with you.”