I don’t want to, but I’m taken back in time when the four of us had bangs that were so high they could cause whiplash, wore colors that no one should ever wear, and drooled over Four Blocks Down without a smidgen of shame.
Smashed in the tiny death trap posing as a vehicle, I let go a little.
We both sing along, belting out the lyrics of our first crushes. “I wish I still had my Eli pillow case,” I grin.
“I had a Randy towel. I would like to wrap myself up with him again.” Nicole sighs.
I swear this girl needs sex more than anyone I know. “Does your vibrator ever get a break?”
She looks over at me with her usual you’re-an-idiot face. “You’re going to realize very soon, my love, if you don’t use it . . . you lose it.”
“And you’re going to overuse it,” I say. She’s the only one of us who never married. Nicole lives in downtown Tampa. She has to schlep it all the way out to Carrollwood to pick me up, but she knows if she didn’t, I wouldn’t go.
Sometimes, I envy her life. She has everything she dreamed of. Opening Dupree Designs and then landing her contract with one of the wealthiest developers in the city was pure luck. She slept with him, got a few more jobs, and before she knew it—she was on top.
Then she dumped him.
We park the car at the arena, and Nicole shifts in her seat. “Listen, I know you’re hell bent on being the responsible one of us, but tonight,” she grabs my hands, “I beg you to let loose. You need a break.”
I glare at her. “I do let loose.”
“Your hair is in a bun,” she raises her brow. “You’re the definition of tight.”
I touch my hair, hating that she has a point. But this is me. I like to make good choices. Other than marrying Matt, which wasn’t bad per se . . . just hasty. Never mind that he was an asshole. And he sucked in bed.
Okay, so maybe it was a bad choice.
Moving on. “I’m not uptight, Nic.”
“I didn’t say uptight. But let your hair down. It’ll make Danni jealous since she can’t get her hair your color blonde no matter how much money she spends. Maybe one day she’ll get over herself and stop trying.” Nicole and Danielle have a love/hate relationship. This week it seems to be more on the hate side. I wish they’d get over this already and talk it out, but they both claim there’s no issues.
From what I can gather, Nicole slept with Danielle’s ex three days before she got married. I don’t know if it’s true or not, but I wouldn’t be surprised since it is Nic we’re talking about. When I heard the back story, I distanced myself from the entire thing. No way was I getting in the middle of it, but Nicole typically has something snippy to say about her and vice versa.
Feuds aside, Nicole is right. I don’t ever go out. If I’m not being a couch potato, I’m with my sister.
I pull my hair out of the bun, allowing my blonde locks to fall around me. Thanks to the twist, it almost has curls. Nicole grabs her bag from the backseat and tosses her makeup pouch onto my lap. “Put some of that on. You know, look hot. Not like a frumpy divorcée.”
“I often question why I didn’t drop you after high school.” I grab some eyeliner and darken my brown eyes. I add a little blush and lip gloss. “Better?”
“Much.”
We head into the concert, and I can’t stop giggling to myself. Everyone is around our age—all here to see a freaking boy band. The group we all lusted over as teens is now fully grown, but here we are, ready to swoon and scream their songs.
I can’t remember how many dreams I had about Eli Walsh or how many notebooks I filled with Mrs. Heather Walsh signatures. I’m sure I’m not alone, either. There are probably a few hundred middle-aged women here tonight who had done the same thing.
Some more scantily clad than others.
“What the hell is she wearing?”
Nicole glances over and makes a disgusted face. “Dear, Lord. Someone needs to tell her that a muffin top and a mini skirt don’t mix.”
I snort.
“I feel like this is our version of a high school reunion,” I cogitate while scanning the crowd for Danni and Kristin. I know we’re not spring chickens, but when did we get as old as some of the people standing in line? Sheesh.
“Heather!” Kristin waves as they rush toward us.
Even though we see each other at least every three months, I miss them. We made a promise when we graduated high school we’d have a quarterly date, and so far, we’ve all made a point of sticking to it. It helps that we all stayed in the greater Tampa area, but I think no matter the distance, we’d always be there for each other.
Some friendships are unbreakable—even if someone sleeps with someone else’s ex.
“I’ve missed you,” I say as she wraps her arms around me.
She plants a kiss on my cheek. “I missed you more.”
We all stand here, hugging it out. We’re dorks, but I couldn’t care less. Other than my sister, they’re the only family I have.
“How’s Steph feeling?” Danielle asks.
“She’s doing good, I think. I’m waiting for her to call me.” It’s so sweet how Danielle always asks about Stephanie.
“I’m glad she’s doing okay.” She smiles.
“Yeah, she should’ve called though. I should probably give her a call . . .”
Danni grabs my hand, stopping me from going for my phone. “I’m sure her nurse would let you know if there were something wrong.”
She’s right, but the worrier in me can’t help myself. I’ve spent what feels like my entire life making decisions around Stephanie. I don’t take any chances when it comes to her.
“I’m just going to check,” I explain as I grab my phone from my bra.
Danielle laughs. “I should’ve known better than to try to stop you.”
There are no missed calls or texts.
Breathe. I’m sure she’s fine, don’t overreact.
I send a quick text because I’ll never let it go.
Me: Hey, you okay? I haven’t heard from you today.
She answers right back.
Stephanie: Yes, Mother.
Brat.
Me: Have you had any more tremors?
My sister suffers from Huntington’s disease. She was diagnosed at nineteen, and it took her independence before she even had time to enjoy it. I tried to care for her. I did everything I could to keep her with me, but when she started suffering from relapsing paralysis and struggling to speak, we knew it was beyond my capability.
Watching your twenty-six-year-old sister battle with early onset dementia is devastating. The last few weeks have been good, though. She’s been cognitive, alert, and even happy. Her symptoms are sometimes so mild that I forget how sick she is, but then the disease rears its ugly face again and there’s no forgetting.
Stephanie: Nope. And aren’t you out with the girls? Go have some fun, Heather. Tell them I said hi!
“Is Steph okay?” Nicole asks when she sees me typing away.
“She’s fine. I mean, you know . . .” My mood drops immediately as I think about how she’ll never experience this. Danielle touches my arm, and I force myself to smile. “She says hi.”