“Really?” I can’t keep the doubt out of my voice.

I showed up at his house, and he married with five kids.” Under her gaze, I feel naked, her sharp eyes performing a thorough examination of my mind and finding every dangerous turn and polluted crevice. Might as well tell ol’ Cassandra the story.” From what I can tell, ol’ Cassandra doesn’t seem much older than me. We probably here for another couple of hours. “Let me guess––you stalkin’ yo ex, and show up at his house, and he married with five kids.” “Bad company,” I mutter while fiddling with the ripped edge of the vintage Badgely Mishka dress I found in a consignment shop.Ĭassandra exhales tiredly. “Girl, you look like a broken down Cinderella. “Thanks.” While she adjusts the long, straight hair of her wig, her dark doe eyes sweep up and down my person. “Amber.” My eyes cut from her feet to her face. I’m momentarily shocked to discover that Louboutin makes pumps that size. She sits up and crams her feet back into what looks like size fourteen red patent heels. My inquisitive gaze glides over her expensive clothes and flawless make up. And they always come at the top of the hour.” Cassandra lifts her arm off her face and eyeballs the clock on the gray-green wall. “Sorry to interrupt your beauty sleep, princess, but it’s been ages since anyone’s been back here.” Her long body is half hanging off of the metal bench, arm thrown over her eyes, wig askew. I look over my shoulder, at my one and only cellmate. “Ain’t no one gonna come if you keep at it like that,” a deep voice announces.

“Deputy Dipshit! I’ll have you know I’ve been watching Law and Order since I was ten! I know my rights and I demand my phone call!” Go ahead and add that to the heap of reasons I wish a stray asteroid would destroy the planet tonight. Which only serves to remind me that its sole mate was lost somewhere at the scene of the alleged crime. “Deputy Dipshit!” I rake the bottom of a very nice Jimmy Choo high-heeled sandal, purchased on clearance at the Saks On Fifth Outlet, against the bars of the tiny holding cell.

I call it a perfect storm of awful circumstances. You know how they say never to go to the supermarket when you’re hungry because you’ll make some seriously ill-advised choices if you let your baser instincts rule your intellect? Yeah, the same logic applies to agreeing to see your ex-fiancée when you’ve had a soul-sucking week.

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