Lanie sighs. “What a shame. I had so many things ready to go.”
“And that is precisely why I didn’t call.”
My hand runs down my face, stopping over my mouth. A cold draft floats through the room and I shiver. It’s the one downside to owning an old home. This part of town is the historic district. It’s a beautiful area full of charm and ornate buildings, but it’s also expensive to maintain.
Neither one of them speaks their thoughts on the matter, allowingme my choices. What’s there to say anyway? It’s my birthday. My decision. The best thing about our friendship is that we all know when to speak and when to remain quiet.
After several long moments of silence, Lanie changes the subject.
“Ava really wanted to come home.”
I wish she were here, but it wouldn’t have been good for either of us. I would’ve made sure to put on a happy face for her, but she would’ve seen through it. No matter how hard I try, Ava knows how hard forty has hit me, and it likely would’ve been the last straw. She would insist on pulling out of school and moving home.
“I know, but she’s where she needs to be. She doesn’t need to be worrying after her middle-aged mother.”
Nina nods her head. “You might be right, but Ava isn’t like other girls her age, Alyssa. She hates that you’re alone. She’s struggling. You need each other,” she says, giving away that Ava calls her more than I know.
I fake a yawn, done with this conversation. Thinking about Ava only makes matters worse. “I want her to enjoy school. She’s living her dream, and that’s what I want for her. It’s what Garrett wanted.”
Lanie smiles sadly. “We all know that girl was made for greatness. She’s probably got her nose stuck in a book as we speak.”
I smile, picturing Ava curled into her purple bean bag chair, sitting in the corner of her room, nose pressed into the book I bought her last time she was home. “Anything is better than sitting by her phone waiting for my calls.”
“What would you like to talk about?” Nina asks, steering the conversation away from Ava. She knows it’s a touchy subject. Ava and I have very different ideas of what needs to happen. I want her to focus on her passion, and she wants to move home to babysit me. When I don’t speak, Nina presses on. “Want a drink? I brought wine.”
Lanie’s phone beeps, and she removes it from her overly large bag, frowning at the screen.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
She looks at Nina and then me. “Yeah. All good. I just need to cancel a reservation I made for tonight.”
“Oh, shoot. I completely forgot about that,” Nina says, fidgeting.
My eyes volley back and forth between my friends.
“Thursday wine night,” Lanie explains, avoiding my eyes, while she types a message into her phone.
Thursday wine night is something the three of us held as a standing date for years. Sometimes we’d see a movie. Other times, we’d just do a wine tasting and dinner. The only consistent part? Wine. Since the accident, we haven’t kept our weekly date.
I told Lanie over a week ago I wasn’t up for a birthday dinner, but it doesn’t surprise me she made reservations just in case. Inspecting my friends closely, it’s obvious they planned on something.
On a typical night in with the girls, yoga pants and oversize sweatshirts is the preferred dress code. But tonight, Lanie, the brown-haired beauty of our group, has on a pair of black Spanx leggings and a gray off-the-shoulder sweater. Not over the top, but nothing she’d typically wear to hang out here. Nina is still wearing the gray slacks and black V-neck shirt that she likely wore to school.
“Don’t cancel,” I say, picking at invisible lint. “You two can go.”
Nina shakes her head. “We’re not going to El Picante without you.”
They made reservations at my and Garrett’s favorite Mexican restaurant. It’s the one place sure to get me out of any slump by simply placing bottomless tortilla chips, queso, and the largest mango margarita possible in front of me.
My lips form a thin line as I war with my yo-yo feelings. Onepart of me wants to remain in my pajamas, on this chair, sulking. The other part wants to live a little on the wild side, venturing out to do more damage to my waistline via shrimp fajitas—something I haven’t indulged in since the accident.
“I’m in.” I hardly get the words out before Lanie is popping up from the couch, as though she always knew this would be the outcome. She pulls something from her bag, chucking it at my head. I duck out of instinct.
“About time you come to your senses. You said you didn’t want to celebrate, but I brought this for you just in case.”
She turns away without another word and saunters through the arched doorway toward my kitchen with a bottle of wine she also pulled from her Mary Poppins bag.
I hold up what I now see is a white T-shirt that readsForty-liciousin sparkly fuchsia.
