Random Acts of Hope Read Online Free PDF Page B

million miles away, Liam,” Darla said. Amy’s eyes flickered toward me and she seem ed dangerously contemplative. She was ready to say something constantly, like she was piecing something together, and I hated not knowing what she might say or do. The unpredictability was killing me, because Amy was…
    A bridge. A strange one. After Charlotte cheated on me I went crazy, sleeping with anyone who would have me, and turned to Amy in a moment of weakness. To be fair, she did the same, and we didn’t so much use each other as we took refuge in each other’s pain.
    Sam had been the source of hers, and we had an uneasy friendship these days.
    Charlotte had been the source of mine, and Amy and Charlotte…I just didn’t know. They’d been friends in high school. Not great friends, but they’d traveled in the same circles. If Amy knew why Charlotte had fucked some other guy while claiming to love me, she’d never said a word.
    I always wondered why, but sometimes it’s better not to ask and know. The truth hurts so much more than just shutting down. Besides, what was I supposed to say—“Hey, Amy, why did Charlotte think I wasn’t enough? Why did she turn to some other guy and let him stuff her hole and lie to me about it when he knocked her up?”
    I’d rather cut off my own dick with my car keys.
    “I’m fine. My old man is trying to get me on the phone so he can scream at me for stripping,” I told Darla, grabbing the vacuum at the neck and lugging it toward the door.  
    “Seeing your old girlfriend threw you for a loop, didn’t it?” Darla replied with a look that said she wasn’t believing my bullshit. I wouldn’t either if I weren’t me.
    “That? No. Not really. No big deal.”
    “And being felt up by your mom—”
    “ That fucking sucked.” My voice sounded like grinding glass.
    Everyone went quiet.
    Bzzz. Trevor grabbed his phone and grimaced, holding it out for me to see.
    “It’s your dad,” he announced. “ It’s bad enough my own dad calls me to hound me, but now yours?”  
    I shrugged, pretending not to care. “He wants to find me, he can just wait. I control my own time. My own money. My own life.”
    Sam made a polite golf clap. But he was grinning. “Can’t reattach the apron strings once you cut them,” he said.
    “They sure as hell do try, don’t they?” I said, dropping the vacuum and reaching for my guitar, plucking out the first few chords of the Stones’ “ You Can’t Always Get What You Want.”  
    Because you can’t.
    Charlotte
    Two weeks after seeing Liam, the order came in. His was—of course—the only one that was a n in-person, hand delivery. Some parties involve hand deliveries, mostly for women who don’t want husbands or children to come home and open the package and get a big, buzzing surprise, but the group at that bachelorette party was worldly and nonchalant .
    Plus, I earned more than $400 for a night’s work. If I ha d to deliver one package, it was worth it.
    Even if it involve d seeing Liam.
    I could call him. I could email or text or just try to find his address and mail his plastic girlfriend to him. With a DVD copy of Lars and the Real Girl .
    He want ed to see me. Right? He wouldn’t have asked for in-person delivery otherwise.  
    I ha d n’t heard a word from him or his mom since th e bachelorette party . Sybil was spitting nails, and stormed out with apologies to the bride that night. She missed Liam’s flesh show, but I suspect that was the point.
    The night passed in such a blur and it was hard to believe two weeks had disappeared in a blip. Marian’s pregnancy turned out to be a late period, her cries of happiness and screams for a tampon loud enough to be heard through two floors. Her friends took her out and got her nice and drunk that night.
    And the next morning I escorted her to campus health services for an appointment to discuss birth control methods with one of the nurses.
    The usual hustle and bustle of the start of the