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“So that’s why you’ve been texting like crazy.” I grin, hugging him.
Brady asks, “Do you love him?”
My gaze falls to my lap. “I do, but he doesn’t know that yet.”
“I think he does.”
Gemma covers her face again. “You met him! You met the one! I always told you love is real and you were the one who said you might live on your own forever.”
“With my friends,” I add, reminding her.
“So what, I’m supposed to move to Georgia, too?”
Thinking of one of the stories Sylvia told Laura and I when it was just the four sitting on the porch that night, of her moving from New York City to Georgia after Rachel did, I give a hopeful smile, “Anything is possible.”
“I’m a city girl, Willow.”
Reaching over and touching her knee, I give it a gentle squeeze. “I know. We better go back soon if we wanna watch a movie before crashing out. I have to work tomorrow.”
“What movie could beat this?” Gemma laughs, wiping her eyes. “I just want to talk and then go to sleep. Spend time with you while I still can.”
Brady calls for the check, “I have to go. I’m getting dinner.”
“I said I was getting dinner!”
“I want to.” His voice is thoughtful as he pets the dog we bought together, that’s now mine. “Funny how life works out.”
We head back, say goodbye to Brady, and take my building’s stairs to walk off dinner. Maybe slow time, too. Gemma’s unusually quiet, and so am I.
Giving Ben a text, “I’ll call you in the morning, okay? Gem’s feeling sad,” I focus all of my attention on my best girl.
When friends need you, you show up.
Because life really is short.
And people?
They’re what make life worth living.
THIRTY-SIX
Willow
The next morning, bright and early with plenty of time for me to get to work after spending a nice start to my day with my BFF, Gemma and I make coffee with my French press. We enjoy tempering the delicious bitterness down with only cinnamon. I used to have it with cream but I heard this was the healthiest way to drink it — cinnamon is not only an antioxidant but it extends the caffeine buzz and practically eliminates the potential of a crash. And it’s nummy.
I converted Gemma. She manages a coffee shop so it wasn’t hard. Then she told others. Boom. Extra orders of cinnamon.
Brady still has his with cream and sugar.
Whatevs.
You do you, I’ve always told him. All I can do is give him the information and what he does with it is his own business.
Pulling one knee to my chest in the chair, red, blue and green plaid pajamas keeping me cozy, I ask her, “Can you believe Brady met someone?”
“Who lives here.”
Holding my coffee mug that reads Don’t talk to me until this is empty, I place my head in my free hand. “Gemma, what am I gonna do?”
