I'm sorry I've been away for so long. It was never my intention. I've been around the world and now I'm back with an idea for a direction that I'm taking this story in, so please try to bear with me.

Listen to "Sober" by Kelly Clarkson. The line "Pick the weeds and keep the flowers" is stuck in my head. Who is the person you keep around that's toxic?


Curious fingers rip at the sealed envelope. I lift the flap and pull out the contents: a photograph, a pink post-it note, and a guitar pick. Unsteady digits trace the 5x7 in my hands. She's so beautiful. And so far away. The picture captures a simple moment caught while picnicking. Her smile is radiant and her eyes sparkle. I look happy. Content with who I am. The post-it reads "I miss you". Glancing at the clock, I register that it's two in the morning in London. Too early too call, dammit. I miss Ashley. We've been playing phone tag for the past six months. Skype dates, text messages, and emails. We aren't even official yet and this long-distance shit is pissing me off. My career has been sending me all around the world, but unfortunately not to London. We've been gaining clients faster than we're prepared for. My boss wants me to continue to promote our name and network with as many nationalities as possible. Having steady work is nice for once.

My phone vibrates on my desk. I eagerly reach for it. Disappointment replaces my excitement; it's a message from Mother Dearest: "Dinner tomorrow at six o'clock sharp. XO XO Mom" I let out a long sigh. I have no valid excuse for skipping out. It's my first weekend home in quite some time. I really should spend some time with family. After weighing my options I send off a quick confirmation to my mother and then phone Michael for some distraction. I could definitely use some drinks before heading into the dungeon tomorrow. He tells me to show at the nearby pool hall in an hour. I raid my cabinets and successfully pull out a bottle of Disaronno and a high-ball glass. I toss some ice in and proceed to pour a healthy amount of the Italian beverage. I polish off my drink and change. I opt for layering tonight. My tight v-neck offers a free show of the girls so I slip my Calgary Flames hoodie over my head. It's great deception- people assume I'm from out-of-town. I call a cab, flick on the television and plop down on my couch to wait. I'm able to watch an old re-run of Friends before my ride arrives. The yellow car has me at the pool hall in less than ten minutes. I get out of the vehicle, and am immediately attacked by two strong arms around my waist.

"I've got pepper spray!" I warn.

"Spencer, that's not necessary, " Michael supplies.

I smack him, after I put my weapon back in my purse. Michael laughs off my suggestion to nix the element of surprise when greeting colleagues. I let it be known that he may just lose one nut if he isn't careful. He chuckles, until he realizes I'm serious. I don't mess around. He semi redeems himself after saying the first round is on him, leading me into the billiards hall. We spy a free table and amble over to claim it. Michael puts himself to use racking the balls while I wave down a waitress to get us set up with some drinks. He makes a point of deliberately putting the balls in the wrong spot and then grabs a cue stick and takes position. His aim is off. I know it. He knows it. He cocks his stick back, and lets it go, wildly. His stick connects with the cue ball, sending it sailing into the eight-ball, which bounces off the table and lands in our neighbour's beer with a splash. Michael was never one for subtelty. I try to hide my smirk, while Michael keeps his gaze downward, counting. 5, 4, 3, 2...Mr. Beefy Biker Dude is pissed. And just as quick as his anger appeared, it's gone. You can see the wheels turning on this big oaf. He strides over to Michael and thrusts the ball into his palm, "You aren't from around here are you, buddy?"

Michael pretends to look confused, "Who, me?".

"Yeah, you. Around here, it's a requirement to play the locals first before you get your own table. For money."

"Hmmm, " Michael contemplates this new piece of information. He backs up slowly, adding the uncertainty for effect.

"I'm not so sure about that, I am a newb and all, I don't want to go embarassing myself or anything, " Michael lies.

He stalls, looking over at me. I guess it's my turn to join his ridiculous charade. I approach the table slowly, two drinks in my hand, overplaying how much liquor I've already consumed.

With my game face on, I innocently ask my "sweetheart" what he's gotten himself into.

"A friendly wager, blondie, " Mr. Beefy answers for Michael.

I hide my grimace at the god-forsaken nickname and look to Michael for confirmation. He nods, giving me the green light.

"Honey, I can't leave you alone for a second can I?" I shake Michael lightly and turn to the biker, "Well, golly sir, do you think two thousand would be enough for a pairs game? It's the only cash I've got".

Mr. Beefy's eyes light up. He nods eagerly, "Yes, babe, that'll do. Also, a word of advice, you really shouldn't be flashing the enemy's gear around these parts, ".

"What do you mean?" I point to my shirt, "this old thing?".

"Yeah, that piece of garbage. You shouldn't waste your money on supporting losers like the Flames".

I bite my tongue, trying not to divulge that I'm a Flames hater too. That I'm actually a huge 'Nucks fan and this is part of my act. But I manage to retort, "Iginla rocks!".

Michael coughs, failing at hiding his grin, but tweedle-dee and tweedle-dum are too caught up in figuring out what they will do with their winnings to notice. We shake their hands and insist that they rack up and break, since we are much too clumsy for that. Beefy's buddy sets it up and sinks a ball, continues and sinks two more. I wink at Michael. He nods, in understanding. He steps up, carefully aims and sinks one more for them.

"Shit!" I exclaim.

The buddies high-five each other while saying they've got this in the bag. Beefy gives me a not-so-sexy smile while trying to pull off a shot behind his back. Fancy moves fail him, he misses and sinks the cue ball. I amp up my false stupidity, casually picking up the ball, and ask, "What do I do with this now boys?".

They explain that I have the liberty to place it wherever my heart desires as long as it's behind the marking. I place the ball down with a slight thud, "Here goes nothing".

I sink one ball (since I don't want to make it too obvious). I smile cutely at them, "Yay, my first hole in one!"

They snicker to themselves, while I continue to sink two more balls. That seems to do the trick. They are no longer smiling, realizing their odds of winning are disintegrating. I aim and clear up the table, leaving just the eight-ball left. I point to the far corner pocket. I pull back my cue and let go, successfully sinking the eight-ball. Applause is heard around the room as everybody had abandonned their games to watch ours.

I smirk, turning to the goons, "Pay up, bitches!".

"You totally swindled us, you can play, " whines Mr. Beefy.

"Hey now, you were going to rip off my buddy here, we just happened to beat you at your own game, " I counter.

"Fine, fine, Ms. Pool Shark, here's the cash, " his friend shoves the money into my hand, and rushes out the door, dragging Mr. Beefy with him.

Once the two idiots leave the premises, I give Michael a high-five.

"That was almost too easy, " Michael tells me.

"It's always nice to practice my skills on brainless knuckleheads and plus the money is always a great bonus".

Michael wraps his arm around my shoulder and leads me out of the building, "The night's still young".

"While we aren't getting any younger, " I respond.

"Meh, that doesn't matter to me, my wife sure doesn't mind my wisdom in the bedroom!"

I cringe at that unnecessary bit of information. We're close and all...but not THAT close.

"So what's the next stop?"

"Let's celebrate our winnings at Celebrities!"