Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82132 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
“Gabby, this is our friend Scottie,” Cricket says, motioning to the dark-headed woman sitting beside her. “Scottie, this is my cousin Gabby.”
“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Gabby,” Scottie says, grinning.
“It’s nice to meet you too.”
“Scottie lives catty-corner to me,” Cricket says. “Her house has flower beds that look like a magazine cover.”
“That’s your house?” I ask, lifting a brow. “Oh, my gosh. It’s beautiful.”
She waves a hand through the air. “Thank you. But it’s pathetic, really. I gave up on men and decided that I was going to channel all my passion into gardening.” She laughs. “Let’s just say I didn’t imagine I’d have this much time to perfect the art.”
“Scottie is on a self-inflicted hiatus from men,” Della says, squeezing a lime into a glass.
“Not true.” Scottie points at her friend. “I did take a hiatus from men. But I called it off a year ago and haven’t found a suitable candidate to ease me back in.”
“I don’t want to be eased back in,” I say, coming around the island to stand beside Della. “It’s been so long since I had a man that I don’t want there to be anything easy about it. Just give it to me, baby.”
Della bumps me with her hip, making me laugh. Then she hands out palomas with a salt rim and fresh lime wedge.
“If you don’t like tequila, I can make you something else,” she says. “I ordered enchiladas and rice from Gran Ranchero and thought palomas would go perfectly with it.”
“Della refuses to cook for us,” Cricket says, taking her drink.
“Wait, Alden has a Gran Ranchero?” I ask. “When did that happen?”
“Because I want you all alive and well, not knelt over your toilets fighting for your life,” Della says to Cricket. Then she turns to me. “No, Alden still just has Betty Lou’s. I was in Logan today and picked it up.”
“That makes sense. I was wondering how I missed a new restaurant in town.” I laugh. “Tequila is great. Thank you.”
The three friends argue over a pot roast Della recently made—or tried to make, depending on who’s talking. I sit on a barstool and sip my drink.
I didn’t realize how badly I needed this evening until now. How much I missed having girlfriends.
The tequila is potent as it hits my stomach. Instantly, liquid fire flows through my veins. I close my eyes and enjoy the sensation of giving up a bit of control and stress.
I enjoy being a woman with a life outside of her kids.
“Are you guys ready to eat?” Della asks, pulling two silver containers from the oven. “Damn, this smells good.”
“I’m starving,” Scottie says.
Cricket wipes lime juice off the counter and then lines the limes, salt, and tequila up in a tidy little row. Scottie plucks paper plates and plastic forks from a cabinet. Della uncovers the trays and finds serving utensils.
They work together like a well-oiled machine. There are no directions given, no questions asked. They move alongside one another with an ease and trust that prickles something in my soul.
What would it be like to be a part of a group like this? To have friends with whom you can simply exist without making excuses or worrying whether they’ll show up—friends who just get into your cabinets and help clean up after you?
Scottie looks at me and smiles. I hope there will continue to be space for me here.
“I’m just sitting here,” I say. “What can I do to help?”
“Come make your plate,” Della says, offering me one.
“Don’t worry. By next month, Cricket will be ordering you around.” Scottie laughs. “Enjoy it while you can.”
Cricket huffs. “That’s not true. I don’t order people around.”
Della looks at my cousin over her shoulder. “You literally texted me this morning and told me to make sure my laundry wasn’t in the living room tonight.”
“Excuse me for not wanting to dine next to your G-string again,” Cricket says, placing an enchilada on her plate.
“You can’t come by unannounced and complain about the state of my life,” Della says. “If I had known you were coming, I would’ve put my stuff away.”
“She has a point, Cricket,” Scottie says.
Cricket groans. “You all are incorrigible.”
Della looks at me and winks. “Come on. Let’s eat in the living room. It’s more comfortable in there.”
We take our food and drinks and follow her through the house.
“Tell us about you,” Scottie says as we sit on the white furniture. It’s clear Della doesn’t have kids. “What do you do for fun?”
I set my plate on the coffee table. I start to speak—to answer her question. But nothing comes out. How do I not know how to answer that?
“No one has asked me that in a very long time,” I say.
“I didn’t mean to put you on the spot,” Scottie says.
“Oh, you didn’t. It’s just wild that I haven’t thought about what I want to do for fun. I want to have more fun, sure, but I don’t even know what that means.” I frown. “How sad is that?”