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“Do you have any idea when the insurance paperwork will get all worked out?”
“No,” Emma said. “I’ll give them a call on Monday.”
Her friends exchanged a look at Emma’s cavalier tone, but she truly wasn’t worried about it. Sure, most of her furniture had to go, and a good portion of her clothes had been tossed, but Camille’s apartment had everything she needed for the short term. Although, Emma had definitely ignored Camille’s insistence on taking the master bedroom. The smaller guest room would be just fine, and came with fewer horrific mental images of Camille and Kenny “doing it,” as Riley would say.
And while Emma couldn’t help but feel a little stressed by it all, there was also something very freeing about being forced to start over from scratch.
Despite the fact that she didn’t have a home and had only about five outfits to her name, Emma felt lighter than she had in months. Like something exciting was about to happen. Like, maybe, for the first time in . . .
“Did I tell you guys I have a date on Friday?” Emma blurted out.
“Yeah? Who with?” Grace asked.
Her friends looked curious, but not completely surprised. Emma may not be looking for a relationship, but she did date occasionally. She liked getting dressed up. Liked conversation with men.
She liked sex, if the mood was right. Although it hardly ever was.
But this time . . . this time felt different.
Hopeful.
Emma fiddled with her wine glass. “His name’s Benedict. Camille set it up.”
“Camille?!” Julie said. “So that’s why she let you stay here. It was a bribe!”
Emma shrugged. “Basically.”
“Is he cute? And I thought you forbid us from setting you up on blind dates?” Grace said.
“Well, if you guys had a twenty-fourth-floor apartment overlooking Central Park to bargain with, maybe I would have reconsidered,” Emma said.
“Touché,” Riley mused, tapping her nails against the arm of the couch. “Want us to tag along on the date? We can hang out at the bar and work out some sort of SOS code if it all goes to hell?”
“What kind of dates have you been on that require an SOS code?” Emma asked.
“You’d be surprised, pet,” Riley said mysteriously. “You’d be surprised.”
“What are you going to wear?” Julie asked. “I saw what survived your apocalyptic flood adventure. The options aren’t great.”
Grace sat up straight. “Oooh, I think I just figured out what we could do with the rest of our day!”
Riley pointed to her glass. “I’m good with this. Day drinking’s legit when there’s fruit involved.”
Grace stood excitedly, gesturing for Riley to finish up. “Bottoms up, McKenna. We’re going shopping.”
Riley and Emma groaned as Julie squealed.
As far as shopping was concerned, their group was split down the middle. Grace and Julie practically lived at Bloomingdale’s, and their idea of a PMS cure was a stroll through Saks.
Riley and Emma, on the other hand, shopped only out of necessity. They enjoyed a good pair of Manolo Blahniks as much as the next girl, and they weren’t immune to one of those rare finds that made your boobs look huge and your waist look tiny, but there had to be a damn good reason for venturing out into a world of pushy salespeople, scary price tags, and unflattering dressing room lighting.
Unfortunately, today there was a good reason. Grace was right. Emma’s clothing options were dismal.
Emma looked at Riley apologetically.
“Fine,” Riley muttered, tossing back the rest of her drink. “But there will be lunch involved, right?”
“Yes, honey,” Julie said soothingly. “I’m sure we can find you a chunk of bread stuffed with pasta, topped with butter and cream.”
