When Jojo heard Holly say “come in, it’s open” she didn’t expect her to be sitting on the kitchen counter.
Naked.
The ginger ale in her hand almost slipped to the ground, but Jojo caught it.
“You drinking?” was Jojo’s first question.
Holly shook her head and snorted, scoffing at the idea.
She didn’t seem nearly as mad as Jojo might have been if Holly had asked her the same question during a rough patch.
“Sorry. Unfair of me. But “naked on counter” screams Southern Comfort to me. Or maybe I’m projecting.”
Holly agreed. “You’re projecting. If I relapsed I’d be…like roller skating and making out with a guy.”
Jojo opened the ginger ale and grabbed a glass from the cupboard behind Holly’s naked back.
“I didn’t know you roller skated or made out with guys.”
“I have done both. I’m better at roller skating.”
Jojo started to smile, then saw the smashed flat screen propped against the wall. Jojo was there when Chelsea gave it to Holly.
“Holl, you loved that TV. Not cool.”
“I loved Chelsea, dammit and that…” Holly dug her thumbnail into her leg, just below her Frank Frazzetta Moon Rapture tattoo.
Jojo hugged her, remembered what genuine, warm hugs Holly gave when they were in rehab together.
Eleven months later they were best friends, Jojo just slightly paranoid that their closeness might have been one of the things that caused Chelsea to leave.
Holly barely hugged Jojo back.
The dread that she might have been partially responsible escalated.
“Is this my faul-”
“No,” Holly said, grinding her teeth. “No, nope, nada. I’m boring to her now that I’m sober. She admitted as much in the letter.”
Jojo took a deep breath, slammed some ginger ale, waited for the throat tickle to subside.
“Can I see the letter?”
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