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“Try saying that without grimacing next time,” Emily helpfully suggests before continuing. “And I know I haven’t talked to Birdie as much as you lately, but I feel like I can confidently say she will recount her proposal to you at least twenty times and you can bet your sweet ass she made a binder on the flight home, and probably one for you as well, so buckle up. And hey, it’s okay to be a little sad. We’re thirty-four and still single with no dating prospects in sight.”
“At least you have a hot quarterback to lust after.”
“Look but don’t touch. You know the rules I signed when I became a California Vipers Cheerleader. Football players are off-limits to cheerleaders. Which really makes absolutely no sense when you think about it. Football players and cheerleaders were literally made for each other, and we’re consenting adults.”
Emily has always been the type of person to act first and think later. As a dancer and gymnast all her life and a cheerleader in high school and college, Emily decided on her thirtieth birthday to attempt one of her bucket list items: Fly to California and try out to be a professional cheerleader for one of the nation’s most popular and well-known football organizations. The California Vipers Cheerleaders are an American staple, and everyone here and all over the world has heard of them. Their sexy, skimpy uniforms are iconic, and replicas are sold for adult costume parties at every costume store around. Their yearly calendar for charity sales breaks new records every year it’s released. And not only do they dance at every nationally televised professional football game for the Vipers, they’re hired to travel around the world to perform at some of the most publicized events there are, like the Grammys and overseas to perform for the troops who are deployed.
The three months of grueling tryouts Emily went through ended in her making the team and shocking the hell out of her, when I knew without a doubt she’d do it. I also knew when she left and said she’d only cheer with them for one year before coming back home that she’d probably change her mind when she got out there and saw everything the world had to offer. She was too talented and too amazing to stay here on Summersweet Island and not follow her dreams for as long as she wanted. At least we talk all the time, and I get to see her when she comes home for Christmas to visit her parents every year, and those visits are something I spend months and months planning and looking forward to. I also get to see her on TV, which is the coolest thing ever.
“Can we go back to discussing the reason for you making vodka soup before noon? Please tell me that text you sent me was a joke and Kevin isn’t really planning on coming out to Summersweet Island,” Emily pleads, pulling her foot up to the chair she’s sitting on and resting her chin on her knee.
“Well, he says he’s coming, but you know how that goes. He makes a lot of promises he can’t keep. I guess he heard Owen’s baseball coach quit and the freshman team is coach-less right now. He’s very concerned about his son’s progress and wants to speak to the athletic director about why it’s taking so long to hire a replacement.” I nod with a look of complete seriousness on my face, which makes Emily snort.
“Does he even know what position Owen plays?”
“Still thinks he’s a pitcher,” I say with an eye roll. “Because according to Kevin Stratford, the pitcher is really the only player anyone cares about and who gets the biggest paycheck in the majors. He’s such a piece of shit. Why did I have a one-night stand with a piece of shit?”
“Uh, because the boy you had a crush on in high school and never had the balls to tell got drafted to play ball clear across the country for Washington that night, we paid Julie Mayer to buy us a bottle of tequila, because we were only twenty, and you proceeded to be sad and shitfaced, then slept with a pretty frat boy who said all sorts of sweet and wonderful things to you, who we had no idea was actually a pile of human garbage from North Carolina under that sun-kissed tourist skin.” She inhales dramatically after all that.
Resting my arms on the kitchen table, I drop my head forward and let it thunk against the wood top, not really sure at this point if I’m agitated because I had to hear once again how stupid I was fifteen years ago, or because just the mention of the boy I had a crush on in high school, and for far too long after, makes my insides feel like they just shriveled up and died. Again. Because they already did that once a year ago after he made himself such an important part of my life and then disappeared without a word.
