I figure she’s being sarcastic. I’m not a big fan of sarcasm, but I laugh regardless because people like it when you laugh at their jokes. “Très chic,” I say.

“Très,” she says. She’s flirting.

Before long I’m taking shots with the cute bartender, whose name is Nicole. She comps my next two rum and Cokes. The bar is completely empty, just us, and I decide I will give her a fat tip because I know what it’s like to work in service. It’s shit.

“How do you like the Blind Pig?” Nicole asks as I sip my drink. “My boyfriend and I love the burgers.”

She’s cute. Of course she has a boyfriend. Tara had a boyfriend when I met her. Men aren’t really a threat. Only on 48 Hours.

“What’s your boyfriend like?” I lean over the bar to emphasize my cleavage and am pleased to see her sneak a glance.

“He’s nice,” Nicole says. “He treats me well.”

I smile. Nice. I’m not afraid of nice. Nice is nothing.

“He should treat you well,” I say. “Look at you.” She looks at me a little funny. “Oh, and the Blind Pig is fine.” I slurp down the last sip of rum and Coke. “I wish I didn’t have to wait tables, but my rich girlfriend just broke up with me so … back to the drawing board.”

She looks at me funny again. She probably assumed I was straight. Everyone thinks I’m straight. And I appreciate that. I don’t want to look like some creepy dyke. I want to be beautiful.

“My shift ends soon, so I should probably close you out,” she says.

Wait, I thought my drinks were comped. But Nicole’s energy has shifted. She brings over the bill for three rum and Cokes, and I feel that familiar sensation of blood boiling. The check looks blurry. I sign, weakly, but don’t leave a cent of tip.

I pick up my purse and head toward the door. Over my shoulder I call out, “Homophobic bitch.”

I don’t wait for a response.

Back at home I smoke a cigarette out my window, completely unconcerned about Karen, and begin texting Tara.

I’m not the one who “needs help” you creepy alcoholic.

I wish you had given me the decency of a respectful breakup but apparently you’re just a weak bitch.

I have moved on and it’s sad that you haven’t.

I’ve fucked 4 people since you dumped me and they’ve all been better than your floppy ass … Ur like fucking a dead fish.

I hope you die alone in a pool of your own filth.

EMILY.

When Beau emails me back about his reading, I jump.