Sometimes a good doughnut can fix anything.
“Hey yourself.” She runs the net through the water and does a double take when she looks at me. “I didn’t know you were coming to town.”
“Surprise,” I mumble. I pick up a water noodle and start twirling it.
“What the hell happened to you? You’re a wreck.” She’s staring at my hair.
I swat at her with the pool noodle. “I need to borrow some clothes.”
She hangs the long-handled net up and sits down to a pitcher of tea, pouring a glass for both of us, and helps herself to a doughnut. “Clearly. You getting laid?” I cough and look away. Gigi points at me and laughs.
“Good for you. Anyone I know?” She wiggles her brows at me, reaches into the wet bar they keep on the porch, and pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniels.
“No,” I squeak. She pours a good splash of booze in her tea. I dare not make eye contact. She hovers the bottle of Jack over my cup and I shake my head. My stomach is churning. Though I’m not exactly sure if it’s from the dare-I-say excitement or my now raging headache.
“Tell me about this.” She waves her hand toward me.
I suck in a breath and in a rush of words spit out the story I’d rehearsed.
“It’s nothing. I went partying with my Daytona friends last night. Met up with this guy I know and did something stupid. I believe it’s the alcohol’s fault, thank you very much.”
It comes out fast and jumbled. I hold my breath and hope sticking to some semblance of the truth will work to my benefit.
She chuckles. “I guess you’re ringing in your freedom like you planned. You gonna keep a journal? Notch your belt?”
I feign indignation. “I don’t have a quota I’m trying to reach or anything like that. I only want to get some more experience. Figure out what it is I want from life. My previous life’s plans were based on Trevor’s and what I thought they should be. Now, in my new single life I’m trying to make some new ones.”
The moment passes between us, and I’m reminded why Gigi has been and always will be my best friend. When her eyes catch mine there isn’t an ounce of pity in them.
“Why’d you drive here looking like a college coed sneaking out of a frat house?” In a snap, we shift gears.
“Because I have a dinner tonight at Sarah Grace’s and...you know.” I want to leave it at that but her expression is open, waiting for me to continue with my story. “I mean this guy, he like lives in Orlando and I um...didn’t have the time to drive home. Now I’m up shit creek. I guess I didn’t think it through.”
If that isn’t the understatement of the year I don’t know what is. I catch my lower lip in my teeth but quickly release it. What if that’s my “tell” and she knows I’m fabricating the truth?
“You wanna shower here, too?”
Slowly, I let out my breath and nod as I reach for a doughnut. Maybe it will be OK after all.
“OK, I’ll lend you clothes and you can shower in the guest bathroom, but I want details. Every juicy one. I want to know everything about this guy.”
I may throw up. I put the doughnut back and wipe my fingers on my jeans.
“Can it wait until after the shower? I feel pretty skanky.”
She laughs and gets up. I follow her into the house and down the hall to the bedrooms, stepping over a boy’s oversize dump truck. Gigi and John have a four-year-old who defines the word rambunctious. She pauses at a closet, opens the door, pulls out a fluffy blue towel and washcloth, and hands them to me.
“Aside from this event, how’s the single life?” This is her favorite question and
I’m afraid she’ll compare my answer to her life, weighing what she has and what she’s given up. I follow her into her room and watch her pull clothes out of her closet.
“It’s all right. It’s an adjustment.” Mostly good, I want to add, but why rub salt in a wound? All my money is mine, I can shop when I please, keep dirty dishes in the sink without a care, and don’t have to worry about someone else making poor decisions and messing up my life. I’ll leave that part to me.
She hands me some clothes.
“I need underwear.” We both grimace, she pauses before snapping her fingers.
“You left a swimsuit here that you can use. It’s not like I don’t want to give you some underwear, it’s just... You get it.” She runs down the hall. The French door opens, slams shut a moment later and she comes back carrying my old bikini. She tosses it to me.
The elastic and fabric are separating, “I don’t know if I can wear this all day.” I pull the elastic, puckering the fabric, and let it go in a snap.
“Only until the mall opens and you can go buy your own skivvies.”
She breaks into a smile and when I look at her dimples, so similar to Hank’s, my knees quiver. I look at my bikini bottom and figure it’s better than nothing.
Gigi is an amazing hostess who keeps her bathrooms stocked with spare everything: toothbrushes, shampoo, soap, and lotion. Her mother does the same. I take the best, albeit shortest, shower of my entire life and don a short, navy-blue T-shirt dress and flip-flops. Thankfully, we’re close in size. Gigi’s clothes are perfect for the warm Florida spring day.
Outside, I find Gigi sipping iced tea by the pool. The bottle of Jack is sitting out, the box of doughnuts half-empty. I plop into a chair next to her and reach for a doughnut.
My headache is finally fading.
It dawns on me something isn’t right.
“Why is your house so quiet?” Come to think of it, I haven’t seen her son. “Where’s Pete?”
“He’s at John’s mother’s house. We’re supposed to be having a romantic weekend. But, he got called in to work, of course.” She leans in, her eyes suddenly bright. “Hey, stay over and we’ll get our party on.”
If memory serves, I believe I got my party on last night.
“I can’t. Sarah Grace’s dinner remember?” I do an eye roll.
My sister, Sarah Grace, is perfect. She married her high school sweetheart, is blissfully happy, has a twin boy and girl, a beautiful home, and makes me feel inadequate simply thinking about her. Sarah Grace would never get divorced, my mother once told me.
“Sounds nice.” She wears her oh-poor-me face.
“Seriously? You don’t want to come with me do you?”
“What are my options? John will be at work tonight, I’m kid-free, and you won’t ditch your family for me.” She looks at me. “I could go to my parents’ I guess.” Holy shit.
My headache flares up. “That would suck, huh?” I whip out my phone and send a text to my sister.
“It’s OK, I’ll figure something out.” She sighs, takes another drink, and watches me text.
I give her my knock-off-the-pity-party look. I’m like a juggler. Only my balls are on fire. Chances are I’ll get her to my sister’s house and she’ll still want to pop over to her parents’, say hi, and find Hank there.
Without a car.
She’ll put two and two together and kick my ass right there in front of my nana.
Gigi once said no girl would be good enough for her brother. She’s certainly not going to approve of me and my actions. I may be her best friend, but I’m her divorced, train-wreck best friend.