Part III
31
AS USUAL, I’M THE FIRST ONE HERE. It’s only been about ten days since I was last here, but it seems like ages ago. So much has happened this past week.
This place is one of my favorite spots in the world. I love all the books on the shelves, the smell of coffee and homemade muffins and the cozy fireplace. I also love it because this is where I meet my friends; women I can share anything with, women who get me.
I’ve already ordered my chai latte; a pretty leaf design floats on top. It’s almost a shame to press my lips to the cup and destroy it. The doorbell clangs and Gabbie makes her grand entrance. Dressed in a pretty red blouse, skinny ripped jeans and tall boots, she looks amazing, curves in all the right places.
Ever since she’s hooked up with her new guy, she seems more confident, and I love that. She never did realize just how beautiful and amazing she is, until the day he walked into her life.
“How are you?” she asks as she gives me a hug. “How was your trip back home?”
Blake comes to mind. Actually he was already there. He’s always there, like a permanent fixture; a shiny leather sofa in the living room of my mind. He owns the space.
“It was great,” I tell her as we both sit down at our usual table, not too far from the fireplace, with a great view of people coming in and out. “I got to see all my family, and spend some time with my mom.”
She smiles. “That’s great. You’re very lucky to have her.”
Gabbie lost her mother a few years back in a tragic car accident. Every time I think about it, my heart aches for her. She’s right – I’m very lucky to have Momma. I haven’t been thankful enough. I resolve to call her every week from here on, twice a week.
Gabbie leaves me to go order a coffee at the counter. I’m left to ponder this quaint little spot and my life in Burlington. It’s a good life, very different than the one I’ve lived this past week, in my hometown. Different, but not necessarily better. I used to think it was so superior, but my way of thinking has changed. Who knows? Perhaps it was Peter’s influence. He’s always making fun of my hometown.
Gabbie hangs her oversized purse on the back of her chair. I know exactly what it holds; a red notebook, a few pens, her phone, and iPad, wipes, and her trademark red lipstick. “So tell me all about your trip.”
I’m just about to tell her all about my family and the camping trip when the door clangs again – it’s Kayla. Her smile is as infectious as I remember. She radiates health every time I see her. She’s wearing a long bohemian dress topped with a worn black biker jacket and old brown riding boots. Her wrists are covered with eclectic bracelets, and she makes it all work because she’s such a classic beauty.
I stand to hug her and she squeezes me a little too tightly. “I’ve heard things about you, Maeve,” she teases.
I laugh. “Let me guess… you’ve been talking to Corrie.”
She settles at the table and there’s only one empty seat now – Corrie’s seat. “Yes, we were chatting yesterday and she hadquite a lotto say about you.”
I shake my head. “That doesn’t surprise me at all.”
Gabbie’s eyes are wide. “What? What happened?”
I smile at her. “Just you wait… I’m sure Corrie will fill you in when she gets here.”
“Well, I’m going to grab myself a cup of tea and those delicious cookies I like,” Kayla tells us. “I’ll be right back.”
“Corrie has some juicy gossip, doesn’t she?” Gabbie teases.
I smile. “Did I tell you how amazing you look?” I say in an attempt to change the subject. “You’re practically glowing.”
She beams, quiet, as she can sometimes be. She really is glowing. I guess that’s what love does to you.
“You look really good too,” she says. “You’ve gotten some sun… your freckles are out.”
I laugh. “Yes, they keep escaping. I try to rein them in with some concealer but they’re pretty rebellious.”
She grins. “You should let them out… they’re fantastic. They make you unique.”
The door clangs again, and everyone turns in Corrie’s direction as she swoops in. “Girls!” she cheers. She’s small but hard to miss. She swings by the counter. “The usual,” she says to Jessie, the barista. She’s holding a purple box – it looks like a cake box. I suddenly get very excited.
She sets the box down smack in the middle of our table. “Check this out,” she says as she opens up the box. “I just picked it up.”
It’s a cake all right, but nothing we could eat. It’s a cake in the shape of a dog bone, for her babies; her two Pomeranians. “It’s their birthday today!” she tells us. “With all that’s been going on, I almost forgot.”
