I would love a child one day. I thought Ricardo did too. Maybe he does, but clearly not with me.
Refill time. I head back to the minibar, because I haven't told her the worst part of the story.
"Not only did I finish paying off the truck, but he took the girl that I hired."
"It gets worse?" she gasps.
"It does."
I just swipe the whole thing down my throat.
"A friend found Ricardo's truck, and I spent a Tuesday night finding out about the baby via a mutual friend who clearly thought she was doing me a favor by telling me the whole situation."
"Bended," she barks.
Okay, whatever gets your fancy. It's not a word I would use.
"I can't say the real word. You know why. Kids and all."
I don't, but I get what she's saying, so I stop at grabbing one bottle at a time and just grab two. I shouldn't be mixing drinks, but this is a special occasion.
"I'm late for work—"
"As always," she interrupts.
"Anyway, I open my mailbox, grab an envelope, and then head to work. Leave my car at the airport, board the plane, and had every single colleague look at me like I was a ghost who didn't know she was dead yet."
"Weird," she says.
Not really. I haven't told her the worst part.
"Then the gate manager caught me at the jetway with a keycard and a second envelope and a smile, and that was how I found out I'd been let go before I'd even unfolded the first letter."
So. Three bad things.
Ricardo, the truck, the baby. That's three. That should be it. The universe should be satisfied. But apparently the universe wanted a bonus round, because here we are.
"I really wish I could give you a hug," Anna says, and her voice is so genuinely soft that I have to move away from the window before my face does something I'll resent.
"Go on then," I say, setting the whiskey down and facing the mirror, because I want to know if I look as bad as I feel right now. "Project your concern from Colorado. I'll receive it badly."
She laughs.
My reflection shows that my hair is still pinned up and hasn't turned into an electric shock, due to the number of blows I've taken within the last few days. I'm wearing a red dress, because I bought it at the airport to cheer myself up. I smooth my hand across my butt as I do a half-spin, thinking about the curves that Ricardo said I should get rid of, because he didn't like them as much as he used to when we first dated.
I'm going to enjoy myself. I'm going to go downstairs and have fun on the roulette table, indulge in the free drinks, and maybe, just maybe, some luck will come my way.
"Anna." The background noise has shifted, the small escalating spiral of her son deciding that this exact moment requires his full contribution. "Go. He needs you."
"I'll call you back later, I promise, just don't do anything."
"I'll probably be passed out."
"Jennifer."
But she's already half gone, the way mothers get, their attention pulled like a tide. The call ends with a soft click and I stand there for a second holding the phone, feeling the particular quiet of a hotel room that costs more per night than my old apartment.
I drop the phone into my clutch. The room key follows. The three hundred dollars, folded neatly, goes in last, because even in crisis I am organized about the things that matter.