Ace Jones: Mad Fat Adventures in Therapy by Stephanie McAfee

y’all.” I look at them and nod. “And I’d like to thank all the new friends that I make to meet tonight. I’m sorry, I mean, hope to make—I mean, meet tonight.” I look at Lilly, and she looks nervous but flashes me a big smile, so I continue. “Thank you, Mason, for making all of my dreams come true, and thank you, Lilly, for being my BFF since we stopped hating each other the year after sixth grade. And thank you, Chloe, who’s been my other BFF since we met at Mississippi State and me and Lilly moved in with her even though we thought she was a little bit weird.” Then I get too close to the microphone again and mumble, “At first.” I look at Chloe, and her big brown eyes are round like saucers.
    I shift my gaze back to the crowd and see that more than a few people look like their underwear just started squeezing them in all the wrong places. My brain feels like it’s swelling up inside my skull and I wish I hadn’t drunk all that champagne. I mop the sweat off my forehead and try to remember what I’d planned to say. I don’t think I meant to thank my friends individually, but since I mentioned a few, I decide to mention the others because I don’t want anyone to think that I don’t appreciate their driving six hours down here to watch me make a fool of myself in front of all these people I don’t know.
    â€œThanks to Sherriff J. J. Jackson and Deputy Dax Dorsett, who came down with their lady friends, Chloe and Lilly, to see, uh, me and all this.” I wave my arm around in a big circle and try to smile. “I don’t know who is keeping criminals off the street in Bugtussle tonight, but since I moved out of town, I guess the crime rate has gone down considerably.” I snigger and look at Lilly, who is slicing her hand across her throat. I hear a rumble in the crowd and panic. “And, finally, thanks to Ethan Allen Harwood, my best guy friend in the whole wide world and Mason’s best friend in the whole wide world.” I look at Ethan Allen, who is frozen like a statue. “We love you like a brother, Ethan Allen, so I guess it’s a good thing that me and you never hooked up, because that would’ve been almost like incest.”
    The crowd is quiet now and staring at me like I have an alien probe sticking out of my ass. Despite my best effort not to, I start laughing hysterically. I look at Mason, who gives me a sweet “you’re so pitiful” smile. He starts clapping, and others do the same. I tug at the hem of my not-so-little black dress because all of that slimming fabric has started to creep. I look around and try to remember what I just said to all these people, but I can’t. “Thank you all for coming out,” I say a bit too loud. “Please excuse my nervousness. Lucky for me, you didn’t come to hear me speak, thank goodness—you came to see my work, so if we could please just move along to that part, well, that would be great.”
    I look at the tuxedo-clad slickster, who smiles at me with genuine sympathy. I verbalize my gratitude one more time and then give the microphone back to him. He gives a short and far more graceful spiel, and everyone claps and starts looking comfortable again. I stand there beside him and smile, wondering if the spotlight glaring into my face could scorch my eyeballs and cause me to go blind. I take a little bow, then walk slowly away from the brutal shaft of light, trying to project a sense of confidence that I most certainly do not feel.
    Shit. No wonder van Gogh cut off his own ear.
    I make a beeline for my pals.

Down and Out in Bugtussle
    From a distance, it looks better than it actually is: the starched white tablecloth, a carafe of red wine, the glass goblet candleholder glowing amber against a terra-cotta wall. The ambiance is enchanting, the pesto is amazing, and sitting on the other side of that luscious chunk of rosemary bread is a