Page 7 of Home Brewed (The Perfect Cup #1)

Hazel

I am such a moron.

I can’t believe I thought he was going to kiss me. I’ve made my fair share of stupid assumptions.

Assuming that my middle school friends would tell me if I bled through my pad onto my white jeans?

Stupid.

Assuming that my mother would get her act together and we would grow close and become clones of Lorelai and Rory Gilmore?

Stupid.

Assuming that my boyfriend would be faithful and not make me move to the other side of the country just to fuck around on me?

Stupid.

Assuming that some random guy who I met literally one second ago who is helping me out because I cried like a crazy person in his office would want to kiss me?

Ultimate levels of stupid.

Maybe I’m losing it, I think to myself, maybe this breakup has officially made me crack.

My will to live wilts at the memory.

Oh god, I agreed to go back and see him tomorrow. If I was freelancing for him, he would still technically be my boss, and he’s Justin’s boss, or at one point he was. All I want is to get my life back in order and I am actively making it worse!

Maybe I’m really a slut at heart. Maybe walking in on Justin dicking down some rando has triggered an un-fightable slut response in me, and this is who I am now.

I sigh, feeling the full weight of not sleeping for three days, and walk up the two flights of stairs to my nearly empty apartment. When I get to my floor, however, I stop in my tracks. Pure disdain floods me when I see who’s waiting in my hallway.

It’s the redhead from that night. She hasn’t noticed me yet, completely engrossed in whatever’s on her phone.

She’s of small stature, petite, with wildly curly red hair that she’s left down.

She’s in ripped jeans, a leather jacket, with smudged eyeliner rimming her bottle-green eyes.

Her freckles stand out against her pale skin, and I can see why men would want to sleep with her.

She’s really gorgeous, which only reignites my anger.

She has a bag next to her on the floor as well, which, upon inspection, has some snacks and a bottle of wine. What the fuck? Did she come here to meet up with Justin again? Is she really that unbothered about banging someone who is in a relationship?

Well, I guess he’s not anymore; even so, it’s the principle of the thing. And to come back to my house? The balls on this lady must be enormous.

I clench my fists and walk up to her, reminding myself that bitch-slapping people gets you arrested .

“Hi,” I say tersely as she finally looks up from her phone, “Vanessa, right? Can I help you?” I don’t let her speak before continuing. “He’s not here. I kicked him out, and I don’t know where he’s staying at the moment.”

“Oh god no, that loser can suck my dick for all I care.” I’m flabbergasted.

“Lying about being in an open relationship? What a fucking tool! No, I came here to apologize. Beck texted me and said you guys had met and that you were pretty cool and…” She picks up the bag next to her, “I come bearing peace offerings?” She pulls out the bottle of pinot grigio.

“If you don’t want me to stay, you can keep the snacks and the wine, but,” she trails off, her eyes flicking off to the side, “I figured you might want a friend? And while he was your boyfriend, what happened was pretty shitty for me too, and I thought we could commiserate together after a heartfelt apology.” A small smile lights her face as she looks up, and her eyes are rimmed red as well.

Her sincerity rings true. She’s hiding it under some well-laid humour, but she’s right. I’m not the only one who got duped here, if what she and Beck are saying is true. I’m a self-proclaimed girls’ girl, and here I am, blaming the other woman when she had been intentionally misinformed.

I don’t exactly have any friends to bitch about this with…

Maybe it’s the loneliness, maybe it’s the exhaustion. I take the bottle of wine from her outstretched hand and exhale deeply.

“Wanna cancel his gaming subscription with me and see how long it takes for him to notice?”

Vanessa cackles and takes the keys from my hand, leading the way into my own apartment.

Well, this is going to be interesting.

We polish off the first bottle of wine pretty quickly.

Well, Vanessa did. I’m not much of a drinker after growing up in the house I did, but the wine she brought was fantastic, and I’m still enjoying it at a much slower pace.

We laid out a blanket on the living room floor and made ourselves a little picnic with the snacks she brought—sour cream and onion chips, homemade brownies, and little savoury garlic pastries from the bakery down the road.

I am definitely a garlic girl, and this is seriously the best thing I have ever tasted in my life.

We’re chatting away, and I don’t even notice that we’ve gone through them all until it’s too late.

I was too busy dreaming of the new garlicky love of my life, I guess.

We delve deep past the superficial small talk, and the conversation eventually turns to Justin.

“No offence,” Vanessa begins.

“Well, that’s a strong start,” I reply dryly, sipping from the overfull wine glass in my hand that had miraculously escaped my dish-smashing rampage.

“Oh shush,” she giggles and whacks me with a throw pillow.

“But yeah, no offence, why did you date Justin? I slept with him, so I’m totally not one to judge, but he could kind of be a dick?

And I’m not saying you have poor taste at all!

You kinda seem like someone who wouldn’t put up with that shit, you know?

I only banged him out of boredom—a boredom bang, if you will—but you let that guy dictate parts of your life…

again, not judging even a teensy-weensy little bit at all!

” Her own wine glass sloshes as she over-explains to me.

I don’t love hearing it out loud, even if she’s not exactly wrong.

I take a deep breath, setting my wine glass down.

“Honestly, I’m not sure. We met in university, our senior year, and he was so sweet then, a little shy, too.

We shared an English elective together, and we both sucked at reading Ethan Frome, so we started studying together.

I don’t even remember him asking me out.

All of a sudden, we were dating. And then the school year ended, and he wanted to move back to Toronto to be close to his mom.

So, I found a marketing job at a random company here and followed him without question. ” I pause for a sip.

“What about your friends? It must have been hard leaving them?” Vanessa’s brow furrows deeper as she listens to my story, her glassy eyes steadily focused on me.

“Yeah, well, most of my friends were from Kelowna anyway, so I didn’t see them a lot.

When I moved, I sort of lost contact with everybody.

Justin made a fuss when I travelled without him, and he hated flying, so I sort of fell off the map.

Texts can only sustain a relationship so long…

At the end, all of my friends were either his girlfriends or the girlfriends of his buddies.

I doubt any of them would want to hang out with me now, especially knowing that that little dink is a lying liar.

Who knows what he’s told them. Besides, none of us were really that close.

I guess I was kind of… around?” God, I sound so pathetic.

“Anyway, I dumped him and now I’m alone in a city and really don’t have the option to move back to my hometown. ”

“No family or anything?”

I laugh humourlessly. “Yeah, my dad left to go have a baby with his side chick when I was like, seven, and my mom had enough shitty, leering boyfriends making eyes at me—which she blames me for, of course—that we don’t really keep in touch anymore.”

“Wait, what?!” Nessa screeches, “What do you mean leering? Do I need to beat someone up for you? Cause I will! I even have a pocketknife from my brother, or kitty ear knuckles on my keychain… I’m saying we’ve got options.” She sounds drunkenly serious, and it’s oddly heartwarming.

“No, no! No reason to beat anyone up. She just always had creepy boyfriends. I was like, fourteen, and one would stare at me no matter what I was wearing. Another came into my bedroom while I was changing and pretended he was looking for the bathroom… that fucking liar. But yeah, nothing actually happened happened. I just started wearing bigger sweaters and locking my door. ”

“Um, hate to break it to you, babe, that is called ‘something has happened.’ And your mom never did anything?”

“Nope,” I say, popping the p. “She said it was my fault they were looking and that if they weren’t looking at me, then her relationships might actually work out.

How terrible for her that her own daughter was vying for the attention that belonged to her.

” I’m paraphrasing a little. What my mom had actually said to me was much worse, but I’m not about to go shouting that around.

“I really haven’t talked to her since leaving for university. ”

I leave out the part where she sometimes calls me under the influence of whatever her new party drug is, usually a blubbering, incoherent mess that I have to try to clean up over the phone, only for her to get mad at me and hang up.

Those are the only times we ever hear from each other. I’m not even sure she remembers them.

“No shit, I wouldn’t talk to her either! Well, we can form a ‘shitty parents’ club for just the two of us. And we can be best friends! We already fucked the same guy, aside from sleeping with each other I’m not sure how much closer we can get,” she giggles maniacally.

“I’m not sure that’s how friendship works, but I’m low on recruits, so I think you’re in by default.”

“Yay for defaults!” She really knows how to brighten a garbage situation. Her tiny face, all chipper, is definitely making everything seem a touch less miserable.

“What about your family? What’s their deal?”