“You’re coming. Y’know my sister is an amazing cook, so the meal will be good. You’ll have a decent time, if a bit tame.” I finish my text and put my phone on the table to wait for a reply. It comes in an instant.
“Sarah Grace says to bring wine. You’re locked in. It’ll be mandatory fun. No good time for you, my friend,” I tease. “And certainly no S.E.X.,” I say, reminding her of her lost romantic weekend.
“You suck.” She laughs and throws her teaspoon at me. “Hey speaking of things that suck, did Hank get a hold of you the other day? He misplaced your number.”
I nod. Thinking of Hank makes me blush. I try to hide it by guzzling my tea. She quirks a brow, and I look at my watch. Well, what do you know? The mall is open.
I pop up out of my chair.
“You in a hurry?” She pours more Jack Daniels in her tea.
“Yeah, the reason I left this swimsuit here is it’s a bit small. It’s chafing me in a few uncomfortable areas. Let’s hit the mall. You’re coming, right?”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Jeez, don’t look so excited. What else you got going on?”
I guess I strike a chord, because when she looks up at me she looks sorta sad and I hate that for her. Is her life what she wants it to be? Are her dreams coming true? Did she think these things about me when I was married to Trevor? Seems like neither one of us are doing too well in the whole make-your-dreams-come-true department.
“You’re right. I have absolutely nothing going on. What I do have is chocolate-covered strawberries and champagne in my fridge going to waste. I guess a bit of retail therapy will boost my spirits.”
“Plan a trip to Daytona and boost your spirits. We’ll meet with my Daytona gang and have a great time.” I reach over and give her a hug. My Daytona gang consists of four other women who get together on a monthly basis for girl’s night out.
“When?”
“Next weekend, any weekend. Just come.” I pull her up out of the chair and push her toward the house.
“Now go turn your frown upside down and let’s go get our shop on.” I fidget with the suit as it decides to ride into my crack.
The way I see it, this is a win-win situation. I’m cheering up my best friend by keeping her busy. If she’s busy she won’t wander over to her folks, see Hank, visualize how we spent the night, and take me out. No doubt I’ll score some crazy-good retail deals because Gigi is the bargain huntress of the world.
Totally win-win.
3
When Gigi and I roll to a stop at my sister’s house, the tension returns, my blood pressure rises, and nausea joins the party. I want to turn around and go speeding back to Daytona. I don’t have the energy for my family.
With flowers and wine in hand, we head inside. I give the customary polite two knocks, open the door, and stick my head inside. You never know with Sarah Grace. She’s blindsided me before by bringing home one of Dan’s employees to dinner as a setup. It’s happened twice, once when I was dating Trevor and once right after our divorce.
Nana, my father’s mother, comes around the corner and smiles. My mother is right behind her.
“Hi, Nana.” I give her a kiss. Two years after my father died, my mom spiraled into a dark depression. It was clear she couldn’t keep it together any longer. Without any living relatives from my mother’s side, Sarah Grace and I were at a loss as how to help her. Thankfully, Nana stepped up. She came for a visit and never left. They’ve been thick as thieves since.
Nana waits for Gigi to give her a kiss before she pats us on our cheeks and walks away, cocktail in hand. That’s my Nana, quiet. Though when she has something to say, it’s wise to listen up. I hug my mother, who is scanning me up and down.
“Are you staying long enough to see the hairdresser?” My mother, a Georgian Southern belle, never goes out of the house unless fully coiffed. My appearance this morning at the Circle K would have given her a coronary.
She met my father at the University of Georgia. Dad was a foreign-exchange grad student in the engineering department, and Momma was getting her MRS. Degree. According to them, it was a whirlwind courtship. They moved to Florida when my sister was a baby.
I reach up and try to pat down my wayward curls. It’s not my fault I inherited my father’s light complexion with the uncontrollable reddish-orange hair, nor can I help my mother wants me to dye it some color close to a Crayola crayon. Magenta, I think it’s called.
“Leave her alone, Helen, I like her hair. Don’t ye worry, me dear, it’ll brown out as ye age,” Nana, who has ears like a bat, says from the other room. I’ve been waiting for it to “brown out” most of my life. She’s right about it getting darker, though it seems to be taking forever. Sometimes I wonder if the darker color she refers to is gray.
Thankfully, Gigi distracts my mom with her clever conversational skills. We follow her into the great room and kitchen combination. Oversize French doors separate the inside from a large outdoor deck and even larger pool. Sarah Grace’s kids are outside running around the yard. They catch sight of me and come rushing in.
“Aunt Paisley,” they cry and lunge at me when they get close. I hug the best niece and nephew in the entire world with all my strength.
“Did you bring us anything?” Jill, the youngest by three minutes, asks.
“No,” my sister answers for me. She’s standing in the kitchen, tossing a salad.
“Yes, it’s in my car. Front seat.”
They run out before I can say any more, Jackson in the lead, and I follow behind. Jackson pulls a bag out of my car and holds it up for affirmation. When I give him the nod, he pulls out two books.
“Yippee. Thanks, Aunt Paisley.” They give me hugs and kisses before running off to fight over their new books.
“At least it’s books,” my sister says. She thinks I spoil them. “Hello, Gigi, it’s great seeing you. How’s little Pete?”
They exchange hugs and cute stories about their kids and I try not to let it bother me. This is one area I have nothing in common with Sarah Grace or Gigi. We are at such different places in our lives.
“You look pretty, Paisley.” Sarah Grace hugs me close. “I’m glad you changed your mind and decided to come.”
“You look pretty, too. The house looks great.” It doesn’t hurt that Sarah Grace is an interior designer.
In high school, she was the it girl and it’s still obvious as to why. Tall, with long, blond hair, and big green eyes, she looks as much like our mother as I look like our father. She is perfection, gives perfection, and expects nothing less from others.
Sometimes it’s hard to be her sister. Sometimes it isn’t. Like when I was going through my divorce and she called me every day to check up on me. She’s sweet.
I glance outside. Dan’s in the yard staring at some folding tables he’s been tasked to assemble. He gives me thumbs-up with a smirk.
“Why’s Dan outside?” I snag a chip and dip it in salsa.
“We are dining alfresco tonight.”
My vision blurs, and I choke on the chip. We cannot eat outside. Sure, it’s a wonderful idea and even though Sarah Grace’s seven-foot privacy fence blocks any view to Gigi’s folks’ house, Gigi will still think about them. Knowing they are right behind the fence, she’ll feel obligated to go say hi, see Hank, do the math, come back, punch me in the face, and end our friendship. My family will figure it out. My mother and Nana will gush with joy and start scouting for wedding locations, and Sarah Grace will shake her head with disappointment. I don’t want anyone to know what Hank and I did.