Festive Fake

1 - Maybe she was right.

"Perfect."

We downed our drinks, and the bartender was back carrying a basket of tortilla chips and a bowl of fresh guac. He set them on the shiny dark wood of the bar in front of us. "That much alcohol and no food isn't a fun combo. Can't have you two getting sick and ruining your plans for the night. That's assuming you have plans after this?"

He leaned against the bar and watched Laurel study his toned, tan forearms under the cuffed sleeve of his black button down. His wide shoulders squared under her scrutiny, and... was he seriously flexing? I rolled my eyes.

Here we were in our late twenties, and I was still playing the game at a middle school level while she'd perfected the art of flirting to where if she said a guy was hot when we got somewhere, anywhere, I knew she'd be seeing him again soon—unless he was in a relationship, she had boundaries.

Her bottom lip slid from between her teeth. "No big plans. What did you have in mind?"

A smirk that could've been douchey on someone else, kicked the bartender's hotness up a few levels. "There's a new club in Midtown. I heard the music's great, and I'll be off in an hour."

"That might be fun."

As she looked him over again, I turned to the Christmas tree in the corner covered in tiny, multicolored sombreros—it was kitschy but cute.

"It's getting late." Laurel's voice lowered, and I knew she wasn't going to any club. "The music's great at my place too. No reason to hit all that traffic. What do you think?"

The smirk grew, and he shrugged. "Shouldn't waste gas, it's bad for the planet. I'm Enzo."

He held his hand out, and she took it. "Laurel."

"Okay, Laurel. Let me know if you ladies need anything else, it's on me."

"Aren't you sweet?"

He flashed his eyebrows and went to serve the other end of the bar. Laurel giggled when she turned to find me sitting open-mouthed, watching her.

"Don't look at me like that, Jolivette Esmerelda Carson. You knew what you were getting into when you decided to be my best friend."

I snorted. "That's not my middle name."

She shrugged and sipped her drink as my phone chimed in my purse. I dug it out and cringed when I saw it was from my mother.

Hello Jolivette, I'm just writing to let you know Briar and Sawyer have confirmed they'll be attending the Christmas gathering for the full week. Also, I've heard they plan to announce that Briar's pregnant. I hope this doesn't upset you. If you only tried, I'm sure you could find a man and start your life.

Let me take you shopping. We'll improve your wardrobe, and I'd love to take you to the salon. Is your hair still that awful auburn? You looked so much better as a blonde, don't you agree? We'll take care of it.

This time next year, you could be announcing your engagement, or even your pregnancy! There's still hope, but I wouldn't wait too much longer, dear. None of us is getting any younger. All my love, Mother. XOXO

The alcohol twisted uncomfortably in my stomach and I slumped forward, resting my forehead on the bar. Laurel made an aggravated sound and slid the phone from my fingers. "Who's going to piss me off? Ah, Mommy dearest. It's that time of year, I should've known."

She was quiet as she read and I worked on not allowing the tears to form. Every. Freaking. Time. Moved five hours away, built a life, grew a career I'm proud of, and one text from her still made me want to run into traffic.