Page 2 of Special Delivery

Another fit of laughter ends, and I inhale a deep breath. “But seriously, what am I going to do?”

“You can always come work for your father, like Jordan and I.” Emma’s attempt to cheer me up only sends me further down my spiral.

“No offense, Emma, but to quote one of my favorite characters, I’d rather sit naked on a hot grill.”

Emma is a graphic designer and Jordan a web developer. They both work for Dad’s app holding company, which makes perfect sense for them. While they enjoy turning unknown apps into profitable ones, an office job in his company is the last thing I’d want for myself. They also handle being accused of nepotism way better than my insecure ass would.

“You’re going to write a column,” my sister says unhelpfully, her voice slurring on the last word.

Emma places her hand on my knee. “You know I love you, honey. But your life is too boring to have something to write about.”

A scoff escapes me, though I know she has a point.

“Maybe it’s time to start dating again.” Jordan shrugs as if it’s that simple.

My mind is hazy, but the idea makes my face scrunch. After suffering a devastating heartbreak a year and a half ago, I made a vow not to date. It has worked so far, and I have no intention of entering those shark-infested waters.

“Jordan,” Emma scolds, as if the sheer memory can hurt me. It can’t, not anymore, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready for a repeat.

“Martha said I don’t need to date.” A hiccup rushes out of me sooner than I’m able to press a hand to my mouth. I begin giggling uncontrollably. “Sh-she mentioned I could write about self-love.”

Somewhere in the blur of my eyes, I notice the look between Emma and Jordan, one that can’t be described with anything but conspiratorial.

Jordan lets out a deep laugh, as if Emma made a joke, and my eyes narrow. “Self-love is exactly what you need.”

Emma joins in, and my eyes dart from one to the other. “I don’t get it.”

“Your brilliant sister just came up with the theme for your article. For a series of them, if we’re being honest.” Emma’s laugh is sweet and melodic, even though she’s just as drunk as I am. Unfortunately, it doesn’t help my growing confusion.

“I know you have your weird telepathic thing going on, but care to fill me in?”

Jordan runs a hand through her hair, releasing a loud sigh. “Self-love, Paige. As in masturbating. Your boss wants you to write about masturbating.”

I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out. Emma jumps up to retrieve a laptop from her home office while I’m still stunned silent. They both work from home, so their laptops are never too far out of reach.

“Why would she want me to write about that?”

“Because heterosexual sex is dreadful. Masturbation is the only way you poor straight ladies get some pleasure.” Jordan stresses her words by lifting and lowering her eyebrows.

Another gulp of wine does nothing to clear my thoughts. “But what is there to write about? It’s pretty straightforward. You lie down, slip your fingers in. End of story.”

“Boy, do we have a world of fun waiting for you.” Emma giggles, setting her laptop in front of me. “We’re going to save your job, one sex toy at a time.”

My cheeks flush, the heat reaching my ears. “I’ve never tried…”

“Exactly,” Jordan lifts her finger. “You can review each toy while discovering self-love.”

“The story writes itself,” Emma adds.

It might be the alcohol wreaking havoc on my mind, but they’re right. A woman who gave up on dating, searching for the perfect sex toy to find pleasure on her own, is exactly what the magazine is about. It’s exactly what Martha wants from me.

“Now, here are some of our favorites.” Emma opens an unfamiliar website, and a plethora of mostly pink gadgets appears before us.

She clicks on a couple of them, and the two of them debate if it’s the right fit for me. The room starts spinning so I focus on a single dot in front of me, not fully seeing what they’re doing.

“She needs a penis-looking one, too.” Jordan’s words break through my fog.

“Ew,” Emma responds. “But you’re right. Here, they have a replica of a porn-star’s dick. That should be fun, right?” I let out a vomiting sound, but she continues clicking. “No strap-on, though.” Click-click-click. “Shit, I need to change the address.” Another click, then she’s typing. “Same day delivery?”