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Chapter8
Charlotte
“Swingers?” All of the girls’ eyes are on me as I recount the dinner Friday night. It’s Sunday, which means our brunch is in full swing—no pun intended.
“I wish I were kidding. And Damien didn’t believe me until we saw his boss’s wife holding a pink dildo through the window.” I cast my gaze over to Amelia. “I think it might have been one of the models you suggest to clients, Amelia.”
She shrugs. “It’s a top-of-the-line product. Many couples are purchasing them nowadays.”
“Are Dave and his wife your clients?”
Amelia mimics zipping her lips and throwing away a key. “Doctor-patient confidentiality.” My jaw drops open and Noelle and Penelope laugh.
“Oh, this is too good. Only something like this would happen to you, Charlotte,” Penelope snickers.
“Right?”
“But besides nearly becoming a swinger, how was the rest of the evening?”
“Oh, it was…okay, I guess.”
Noelle arches her brow at me. “Just okay? Did Damien do something?”
“What? No. He was actually quite the gentleman.”
“Oh, so things went well between the two of you?”
I squint across the table at her. “What are you getting at?”
Penelope lays it all out. “She’s asking if you two boned or not.”
“I was going for a more indirect approach, Pen,” Noelle chastises. “But I guess since she said it out loud, then yes. Any physical developments?”
Slouching back in my chair, I shake my head at my friends. “No, ladies. There was no boning, no kissing…nothing.”
Amelia smiles. “You sound disappointed about that.”
“Uh, no. I’m not. I just…”
“What?”
“I don’t know. Damien is confusing me. I’m trying to place boundaries, I even gave him a list of rules like Amelia suggested. But then he says something or holds my hand or wraps his arm around me, and my body forgets that he used to make my life a living hell.”
Noelle chimes in first. “Charlotte, that was twelve years ago. It’s okay if you’re feeling differently about him now…”
“Is it? Because last time I checked, this entire thing is supposed to be fake. And if he’s doing those things as part of the role he’s playing, that makes my reaction to them even worse. He gets in with his boss, I get my mom off my back, and then everything goes back to normal. That was the deal.”
“I hate to break it to you, babe, but nothing about this is normal,” Penelope says around a mouthful of her omelet.
My head falls into my hands. “You guys, I feel like a hot mess right now.” And then I lift my head up again. “This isn’t me. I’m normally the put-together one—kicking ass and taking names, excelling in my career, and walking around with my head held high. But now, I feel so…”
“Off-kilter?” Noelle asks.
“Yes. And unbalanced.”
“You know life is like spinning a plate on a tiny stick,” Amelia chimes in. “Think about it. As the plate spins, it naturally tips to one side and then realigns and tips toward a different spot as you try to balance it out. Every aspect of your life is in one spot on that plate, and it’s natural to feel like some aspects are well-balanced while others are barely staying afloat.”
“Damn, you must be worth every penny as a therapist,” Penelope acknowledges.
Amelia smiles proudly. “Well, often the people that come to see me feel like their sex lives are the part threatening to make the plate slip off the stick and shatter to the ground. But my point is, no one says you have to feel stable in every aspect of your life at every moment. In fact, it’s the moments in which we feel like we’re about to drop the plate that we grow, that our lives change, and we become better versions of ourselves.”
Tears threaten to spill over. “Amelia…”
“Think of this obstacle in your life as a learning experience, Charlotte. Granted, I don’t necessarily think the decision to invest in a fake relationship is something most people do, but if you use this time as a way to truly figure out what you want and how to handle your relationship with your mother once and for all, then perhaps this will all be worth it.”
“Damn, woman. You’ve even made me speechless, which is not an easy task,” Penelope quips.
Noelle pulls Amelia in for a side hug. “Our friend is so freaking wise.”
“Thank you, Amelia. I needed that.”
Amelia winks across the table at me. “Of course. What are friends for?”
“Wisdom and people to go drinking with,” Penelope says, raising her mimosa for a toast. We clink our glasses together and then each take a sip of the bubbly liquid. God, I love these women. They are the other three voices I know I can trust when the one inside is talking herself in circles. “Speaking of drinking, that club event is this Friday and you bitches are coming with me.”
“What club is it?”
“Loft 24 in Ventura. They just did a remodel and are basically throwing a grand reopening.”
“God, aren’t we too old to be going to the clubs?” Noelle whines.
“Um, no. We are only thirty, some of us thirty-one,” Penelope replies with a flick of her gaze back at Noelle. “And we can do whatever the hell we want.”
“As long as I’m in bed before midnight, I’m there,” Noelle answers back.
“It might be fun to go out dancing, you guys. When’s the last time we did that?” The four of us look around the table. “See, we can’t even remember? And I certainly could use a drink or two and a night of dancing until I can’t feel my feet.”
“Exactly.” Penelope tips her glass in my direction. “We can make a circle around each other and fight off any men that glance in our direction. Just let off some steam and have fun”
“I concur, especially because I am not looking to pick up a man from the club. Those are not the men you marry. Those are the men that you fumble around in the dark with afterward, hope to God he knows how to use his penis or how to find a clitoris, and then regret sleeping with the next day.” Noelle fills up her glass with more champagne.
