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“So we get home from Vegas, married, with me wearing a plastic, yellow smiley face ring. The Aftershocks’ team PR guy finds out and talks us into going along with the marriage like it was real or something. They said it would be good for Rake’s image, you know, good publicity and stuff and it could help me too.”
Gilly shakes her head. “How?”
“You know what a big deal it was when my wedding to Andy imploded? This could make all that go away. Get people to stop talking. Stuff like that.”
Lucy looks at me sideways. She doesn’t believe a word I’m saying.
I pause before continuing. It’s a lot to take in.
“Wait, wait, wait, let me understand. So you got fake-married, then pretended it was real, but people found out it reallywasfake. And you’re upset,why? This is the weirdest fucking story, Petal. I’m sorry,” Lucy says, shaking her head.
“Yeah. I’m kind of lost myself,” Gilly adds.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I mislead you, my mother, everybody. I was an idiot.”
“So… you’re getting divorced, right?” Lucy asks. “Or ‘undoing’ things, as you put it.”
“Not exactly, at least not yet. Here’s the rest of the story. Rake and I have become… close?—”
“Close?” Lucy interrupts. “Close is what you are with your sibling. Close is what you are with your coworkers. Close does not describe a relationship with a dude.”
That familiar lump in my throat returns, and I have a feeling I won’t be able to just swallow it away this time. “Fine. You’re right. I like him. A lot. And he likes me. At least I thought he did, until today.”
Gilly’s hand flies to cover her mouth. “Oh my God, he’s not another cheater, is he?” she gasps.
“No. But get this. I go out for coffee today and one of the reporters out front lobs a bomb of a question at me about Rake being traded to another team.”
“Traded?” Lucy asks.
Gilly looks between the two of us. “What? What does that mean?”
Lucy rolls her eyes. “It means he would go to another team. Like move away.” She looks at me. “Right, Petal?”
“Yeah, exactly. Apparently, this has been under discussion, and Rake never mentioned it to me. I had to find out from a reporter.
Lucy crinkles her face. “No fucking way.”
I nod and then it’s impossible to hold the tears in any longer.
“Oh honey,” Gilly says, taking my hand. “Maybe it’s just some kind of misunderstanding. Maybe the reporter got it wrong.”
“I don’t know,” I say, wiping my face with the sleeve of my shirt. “The reporter seemed pretty sure, and he really dug in when he found out I was just pretending to know, like one of those meangotchamoments. It was humiliating but the worst of it is that Rake’s thinking about moving away, and didn’t even bother to tell me.”
Lucy reaches into her tote bag and pulls out three cartons of Ben & Jerry’s and three plastic spoons. “I thought we might need this. It’s a little melty by now, but I know how you love soupy ice cream.”
She holds all three cartons in front of me, and I grab my favorite, Chunky Monkey, because the person with the biggest problem always gets first pick. Gilly chooses hers, Lucy takes what’s left, and we dig in.
“This is sonotwhat I need right now, to be binging on ice cream,” I say, shoveling the creamy deliciousness into my mouth.
Lucy holds her palm to my face. “Oh no. This is exactly what you need when there’s a crisis. It’s in all the medical journals. I’ve read it. Truly.”
“Who gives a fuck, anyway,” I moan. “This is really, really good. I might feel better already.”
“Just don’t cut bangs like you did that time you wrecked your mother’s car,” Gilly says.
Lucy nods. “There should be a rule somewhere that during a time of crisis, all women will keep scissors far away from their hair until the worst of it has passed. Nothing good comes of a haircut when you’re down. Never has, never will.”
Oh my God. How did I get so lucky to have these women as friends?
