About fourteen minutes later, I study myself in the mirror, my stomach a mess of butterflies.
I’m better than I was about twelve minutes ago, though, when I’d been sitting on the floor drinking directly from the bottle of wine, hissing desperately into the phone to my sister while she tried talk me down. Luckily, the combination of alcohol and sister logic eventually pulled me together.
“Get your ass up,” Janeen had ordered me, “put on that little outfit, and take charge. You’re the boss, Fay, not him.”
“Right,” I had gritted through my teeth. “Except he’s a literal mob boss. And I’m just –“
“Nope,” she had interrupted. “Not today. Today you’re Fay, mob mistress, who gets precisely what she wants. Right?”
“Right,” I had growled, briskly hanging up the phone and grabbing the scrab
