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about espresso and which wine to order with what meal. Chesney had none of those skills and rarely cared about them.
    “That guy was trying to be nice to you,” she said as a mild-mannered jock-looking guy with iPod buds in his ears introduced himself to Becca. When Becca practically growled a response, Chesney cringed. “If you aren’t interested in someone, can’t you get your point across without castrating him?”
    “Men never ask themselves, ‘Do I have anything to offer that woman? Will she be uncomfortable if I walk right up to her table and start my bad version of being sexy? Does that woman have more class than me? Will she find me attractive?’” Becca sipped her coffee and stuffed a bite of apple fritter in her mouth. “No, Chez, I can tell you they never ask themselves those questions. And so, my answer is no. I never feel bad about squashing the bad intentions of slimy bugs dressed in big boy clothes.”
      Chesney sighed, wishing she had just a bit of Becca’s confidence. Men did not take advantage of Becca. Her best friend absolutely refused to be treated like anything but royalty. And because of that demand, Becca rarely dated and had not been involved in a relationship since two years ago, when she and Mike parted ways. Chesney stared at the naked place on her left ring finger, where the big fat diamond once glistened. Just yesterday, while soaking in the tub, she had again removed the ring. There was no drama. She simply placed it in her jewelry box and an unmistakable calm trickled through her veins. It was finally over. She wasn’t headed down the aisle. She was not changing her address or her last name.
    “I still don’t know how to break the news to my perfect mother,” Chesney said softly. “She’ll crack up. This might be the last straw. I could be kicked out of the family, you know. This could be the big one.”
    “Maybe that’s not a bad thing,” Becca grinned. “You’re thirty-three years old and you’re still so afraid to be yourself.”
    “Try being me,” Chesney said with a whine. “Try being the only woman in the Blake family with bad hair. The only one with small breasts. The only one who can’t whip up a gourmet meal or stand taller than five feet, five inches. The only one who isn’t married. Well, actually, try being the only one with two cancelled weddings. The only one who hasn’t used her uterus to produce a grandchild for Mother Madelyn.”
    “There’s more to life than marriage,” Becca said. “Plus, you really need to take a look at your situation, Chez. For some reason, you just don’t attract the right kind of men.”
    “The last time I nearly made it to the altar but failed, my mother swore she got a bald spot from all the stress,” Chesney reminded. “Did you forget that? She actually got shingles. And it was all my fault.”
    “Ernie was gay, Chez,” Becca gently reminded. “It’s not your fault that Ernie chose to jump on out of that closet the night before the nuptials.”
    Because they had been dear friends for so many years, Becca knew all about Chesney’s tormented life story; from the bad boyfriends to the difficult relationship with Madelyn to the fact that Chesney had the self-confidence of a dead cow. She rarely found it necessary to drag out all the dirt from Chesney’s turbulent life but at that moment, Becca suddenly decided to discuss Chesney’s college beau, Calvin, the guy with a stuffy nasal voice and the personality of a dish rag, who Chesney sweetly left behind.
    “Tell the truth,” Becca challenged. “You only stuck with the relationship because your dad liked to play golf with Calvin, right? And you tried not to care about the fact that you and Calvin had absolutely nothing in common. He was absolutely the worst lay in the world. You said so yourself. In fact, I remember Chesney, that you described his penis as a small cocktail wiener, the shriveled, uncircumcised kind of sausage, perhaps a bit bigger than