I laugh and give her the middle finger. When we first met our freshman year of college, Natalie would give me shit for taking shots the way I did. I had to sip them and always chase with a fruity drink.

"I know how to open my throat hole now," I say, reminding her of her old advice. Who the hell says throat hole?

Natalie grins from ear to ear. "I see you’ve stopped with the bitch drinks too." She laughs and shakes her head, then her expression turns serious. "If we're gonna talk sex when I know you're fucking my dad on the regular, then I need to catch up to you." She holds her hand out and waves her fingers at me. "Hand me the damn bottle."

Instead, I reach inside my pocket and pull out the joint and lighter and hand them to her. It's been a while since we've smoked.

"Nice." She lights up—both her face and the joint—and takes a hit.

"We're not talking sex talk," I tell her. "I don't want to talk about your dad."

"Oh, great. Because I was going to go home and bleach my ears out if that was the case. I'd rather get brown out drunk with my bestie the night before I leave for Italy."

My jaw drops and I turn my head to look at her. I almost laugh over her brown out comment. We’d searched the internet once for an answer as to why we could only remember some parts of a drunken night but not the whole thing. Apparently, it’s called a brown out, and we found that hysterical. But I'm too engrossed in her travel plans that I don't laugh, and I listen intently.

"You're going to Italy tomorrow? For how long?"

Natalie shrugs and exhales a dense cloud of smoke. She hands me the white rolled baby blunt. "I’m leaving in three days. I don't have a return date. Figured I'd see where the trip takes me and go from there. Italy is known to have the best food and lovers in the world. Why wouldn't I go there?"

I smile to myself. "Like father, like daughter." I take a deep pull myself and watch the white cloud of smoke appear in front of me. "So, you're leaving me too?"

"Don't get dramatic. And before we talk more about the Chronicles of Natalia and what her next phase of life is, I want to know what happened. This isn't you. In fact, I haven't seen you like this since Grammy passed away. I know, it's heartless of me to compare, but you look like someone died. Now tell me what the fuck is wrong."

I swallow hard as tears climb the back of my eyes. I don't look at her, I can't. I know if I do, the waterworks will come. Considering the amount of mascara I wear on a daily basis, I look scary when I cry. Natalie's been trying to get me to try lash extensions for a while now. She swears by them and says I'll never wear mascara again. Now I wish I had tried them.