Emergency Ex by Mardi Ballou Page B

party? That sounded about right. After all, now that she was thirty and more aware than ever of the passage of time, she could no longer afford to waste any of that precious commodity.
    “I’ll be guest of honor at my ten-minute pity party and then I’ll—” What? She could do anything. Go to the ocean. Go to the mountains. Go for retail therapy. Go to one movie after another—she hadn’t done that since high school. Go to a museum. All of the above. She’d decide later.
    Since this would be a very time-limited pity party— my last one ever because of something Keith has or hasn’t done— she’d make it good, but fast. Candles always helped set a mood, so she assembled tea lights and tapers. Something more. She dug out the gorgeous, expensive candles she’d bought in anticipation of a romantic home-cooked dinner with Keith. Never used.
    What else? Music. “I Will Survive”—no. “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” Not that one. Maybe not “Time After Time” either. Likewise for Bonnie Tyler’s “Total Eclipse of the Heart”.
    “Auld Lang Syne” always made her cry. It wasn’t New Year’s Eve. Was it even legal to listen to “Auld Lang Syne” on another night? As if the music police were going to check up on her. Still, the way her luck was going… Ah, heck, might as well mainline the agony with “Romeo and Juliet”. She added the framed photo of Keith she kept at her bedside. It would have to find a different home, possibly in the circular file, but she’d position it among the candles for now.
    Chelsey came into the room, took one look at the pity party and contributed the saddest ever whine. Brenda stroked in her dog in appreciation.
    Ten minutes.
    * * *
    Keith didn’t fall asleep until almost five a.m. Later, in the foggy mist of not quite being fully awake, he missed Brenda. He’d wanted to make love with her again to usher in her thirtieth birthday with an orgasm or two, but she’d split, saying this was the end for them.
    Not. He poured coffee, strong and black, and took a long fortifying swallow. She knows what she means to me. Right. She has to , no matter how pissed off she is.
    What if nothing he said or did worked? His body grew cold at the possibility of failing, really failing, with Brenda—of no longer having her in his life. He sat down hard and thrust his hands into his hair, willing his brain to work. He couldn’t lose her. He couldn’t lose his best friend, the woman he loved.
    Why am I getting so nervous? This is Brenda, after all. Brenda always takes me back, always forgives me, always understands.
    But, what if this time she doesn’t?
    Too scary. Don’t go there.
    Instead, for the first time ever, he dialed his brother’s number to get advice.
    “Bro, I’m flattered, but I’m not exactly a world expert on getting it right with a woman,” Ryan said.
    “What would you do if you were in my shoes?”
    “You know Brenda. Dig down deep inside. You’ll know what to do.”
    He didn’t have clue. Desperate, he sought advice from the least likely source to be willing to help him—K.C. Corrigan.
    “Yeah,” K.C. croaked into the phone. “An early phone call Saturday morning. This better be good.”
    Great. I woke her up. He apologized for the early call and then threw himself on her mercy.
    After K.C. expressed her opinion of him in less than flattering terms, she helped him plan redemption. He thanked her.
    “Don’t mess up,” she warned, “or I’ll come after you.”
    He believed her. Lucky for him, he had no intention of messing up again.
    * * *
    Catharsis didn’t arrive on schedule, despite a generous infusion of her own finest chocolate and Chelsey’s comforting company. Still, as the cliché went, today was the first day of the rest of her life. She didn’t intend to go forth on a stream of tears, so it was time to turn off the sad music, wipe her eyes, pull up those very expensive big-girl panties and march forth. No way was she going to spend what