Blame it on the Tequila by Fiona Cole (the reading strategies book txt) 📕

one pass only. If you come crying to me again, I’ll be killing people. I’m not equipped with the emotions to handle my best friends hurting.”

I sniffed, wiping my tears, trying to get myself under control. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no. Don’t you dare apologize. I’m glad you finally came to me. I’ve been freaking waiting. Vera took two seconds before her ass was at my door, and here you are, making me wait two days.”

“Yeah,” I responded lamely. Another moment I was faced with my cowardice.

“Hey.” She dipped her head, trying to get me to meet her eyes. When I still hung my head, she gripped my cheeks and forced me to look. “It’s okay, Nova. If you need time, then you take it. As long as you know, we’re here, and let us know you’re safe.”

“I should have told you everything. I should have called. I didn’t mean to shut you out,” I admitted through a fresh wave of tears.

I didn’t mean to shut anyone out, but I couldn’t deny that maybe I’d been hiding more than I wanted to admit. Maybe I’d been controlling more than just what I shared with my art. All this time, I’d been fighting Aiken on showing my face because I wanted to stick with the brand I created, but really, I was just hiding—even from my friends.

“Ha. Girl, you cannot shut me out. I may be biding my time in the corner, but I’m in here,” she tapped my head. “And if you tried to make me leave, I’d laugh in your face, and Spartan kick the door down to get back in. You and Vera are my bitches, and you’ve accepted me. There’s no going back.”

Laughing both hurt and felt good at the same time, but at least I could still laugh.

“You just need to process it differently.”

I laid my hands over hers, where they held my cheeks and smiled through my tears. “Thank you.”

“Any time. Now, speaking of ways to handle our shit, let me grab some alcohol and get to the bottom of this.”

I didn’t even argue when she came back a few minutes later with a bottle of wine for each of us—sans glasses—and a bottle of tequila.

“I feel like this is turning into some tradition,” she said, scowling at the alcohol on the table and back to the crying woman on her couch. “I’d like to skip it, please. No crying over guys for me, thank you very much. But I am always up for a night of drinking straight from the bottle.”

“I’ll keep the vodka on hand,” I promised, deciding against the tequila and sticking to wine. “Speaking of, how’s your boyfriend?”

She stiffened for half a second before shaking her head. “Oh, no, Miss Nova. This is about you.”

“It was worth a shot.” I shrugged, lifting the bottle.

I took a long swig, the dry berry flavor washing away the salt from my tears. If only it could wash away the exhausted hurt wrapping around every muscle and bone in my body. I was exhausted, finally ready to lay it all out there and ask someone to help me carry this load weighing me down.

A soft knock had Rae back off the couch. I knew who it would be before she even opened the door. We were a tripod—we worked better with all of us together.

Vera entered, coming over to the living room all sleek, composed, and calm.

My mind flashed to when I came barging in almost six months ago to find her in the same situation I was in now—crying on Rae’s couch, clutching a bottle of wine. I’d been anything but composed.

“What? No trying to break down the door like She-Ra?” I asked with a soggy laugh.

She scrunched her nose and shook her head. “Nah. I know how dramatic Rae can be with her messages. Besides,” her eyes locked on me, and I saw the focused businesswoman who matched her husband’s force. I leaned back, bracing myself. “I’m saving my energy for you.”

“Oh, damn,” Rae muttered. “Mom is mad at you.”

I glared at Rae, but she just smirked, passing a bottle of wine to Vera before plopping down on the chair beside the couch. She pulled both legs up in criss-cross apple sauce and leaned in like she couldn’t wait for story-time.

Vera took her time setting her purse and coat aside before sitting down beside me. “Now, explain why the hell you couldn’t respond to a message after we discovered your past from the media of all places. If you’re going to fall off the face of the earth, at least send us a message to let us know you’re alive.”

Damn. She did reprimand me like a mom. But then she drank straight from her bottle, bringing the image of the woman in pearls scolding me together with my best friend.

“I know,” I sighed. “I’m sorry.”

“Why didn’t you tell us? About before?” she asked gently.

“I-I—” I stuttered and winced, swallowing to try again. “I never talk about it. It’s the reason I don’t talk about knowing Parker, because usually with that story comes the other, and I just avoid it.”

“Fair enough,” Rae chimed in. “Sounds like it was a fucking shitshow.”

“And we know Rae avoids talking shitshows at all cost.”

Rae mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key before turning more serious. “You don’t ever have to talk about it. We all have things we hold close to our chest that we don’t want to talk about.” She shrugged before looking away for another drink.

Rae appeared as the perfect, fun, socialite, but a lot brewed beneath the surface. She hid it well, but this was an instance we got to see more than she probably wanted.

“The point is,” Vera added, “that we want you to know that you can come to us if you just want to talk about anything.”

“I know that,” I said, adding more sincerely. “I know that. I really do. You guys are my best friends, and I love