The Book Of Firsts by Moore Portia & Moore Portia

Author:Moore, Portia & Moore, Portia [Moore, Portia]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2019-11-29T16:00:00+00:00

When I get home Parks is in the kitchen rapping to one of her favorite Nicki Minaj songs. Outside of the house, Parker is so sophisticated—born into the elite class, rich as hell, and her closet contains more than someone’s salary for a year. But inside she’s just a girl with a ponytail bopping to her favorite song, one of the coolest down to earth people I’ve ever met.

“Lucy I’m home!” I call with a fake Ricky Ricardo accent.

“Come, tell me everything!” she says in between sips of a deep red wine. I toss off my jacket and purse and join her at the island in the kitchen. I tell her all about my orientation from Casey to Kristen the bitch.

“And what about the Uber driver, was he there?” she asks with a suspicious smile. I conveniently left him out. I’m not sure why. I tell Parks everything but I guess it’s better to pretend someone doesn’t exist than to admit they’ve taken up a little piece of real estate in your imagination.

“He was there and trained us on bar, sort of. He’s the typical late-twenties playboy it seems, which is great since I’ve been there and done that,” I tell her pouring my own glass of wine.

“Why is it great?” she asks stirring her concoction of vegetables and noodles in her pot.

“What?” I ask her absently taking a gulp of my wine.

“You said it’s great that he’s a typical playboy…why would that be great…unless…” she says, studying me. I give her a dramatic sigh.

“It’s great because he has the perfect job to get tons of pussy. I don’t know Parks, I’m not a linguist. How do I say things aren’t important?” I wave her off, but now she’s squinting her eyes at me as if trying to unearth a deep dark secret, and I make a silly face at her.

“How about you didn’t tell me how good things have been going with Brad?” I say, throwing her off the subject. She immediately begins to blush.

“I didn’t want to rub it in your face after everything that happened with Jackson.” His name still stings me like hot water, but I won’t let her see it.

“Parks, I want to be happy for you. Don’t take that away from me because my love life sucks,” I tell her. She sighs and shrugs, turning off the frying pan.

“It’s not only that, you know me and my superstitions. I don’t want to talk it up and it all goes to hell,” she admits, grabbing plates for us.

“But every day is better than the last with him,” she says this almost timidly and when she meets my eyes, for a moment I want whatever it is that she’s feeling now. I had a taste of it with Jackson but before I could even swallow it I had to spit it out. It crept up on me suddenly, spontaneously, and before I knew it I wanted the entire meal. Now it’s all vomited up and that reminds me I’d rather starve than have the feeling of it being taken away again.

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