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“I’ll keep you company.” Tucker swings an arm over my shoulders, drawing me close against his side.
“You do know I can look after myself.”
“Yup, but try telling my inner caveman that,” he jokes.
“Oh, my God!” I squeal.
“What?” Tucker rounds on me, his confusion at my sudden outburst has him trying to halt my progress.
Ducking around Tucker’s body, I start jumping up and down like a kangaroo. Then I’m jogging toward the convertible with my arms waving in the air like a lunatic.
The occupant of the vintage powder blue—at a guess around 1965—Ford Mustang soft-top convertible is now tooting the horn. Designer sunglasses hide her eyes, but I would know her if she had a hessian sack over her head.
My friend has arrived a day early. I cup my hands around my mouth. “Gwendoline!” I call out, “Play our song. I know you have it, lady.” We have a fierce friendship.
She throws her scarfed head back and laughs, screeching to a halt beside me with a 1980s boom box beside her. “Giiirl… hold your horses. Give me a second.” Gwendoline removes her sunglasses, then undoes the colorful scarf holding her long, chestnut mane in place, running her fingers through it to fluff it out. She has stunning features with all the curves in the right places.
She holds one finger up, silently telling me to wait a moment.
I watch on with giddy amusement as she swaps a cassette tape out of the boom box(she’s old school) for another and presses PLAY. A funky beat I know well starts playing.
Gwendoline nods to the beat, a wicked grin spreading across her face. Then she turns the volumewaaayup before scrambling out of the convertible and into my waiting arms for a welcome hug.
We know all the dance moves to “Love Shack”by the B-52’s, and we won’t hesitate to act like wild, crazy women singing our well-rehearsed, years-old, designated parts.
I hear Tucker’s laughter as we jump around, making sure to stand clear of each other’s energetic bodies as we move to the groove.
I am so in the moment. Neither of us can sing well, but who cares. I haven’t seen my best friend in too long, as we give it all we’ve got. Not even Tucker’s presence can stop me from releasing my tone-deaf inner person. Gwen’s got this freeing effect on me.
I don’t want to look, but I hear Tucker clapping along to the beat and throwing in some of his own vocals, but he’s not competing with us. He’s enjoying the moment, which gives me an extra shot of bravado.
Gwendoline leans inside the convertible when the song finishes and stops any further music from blaring out.
Then we jump around like kangaroos hugging and squealing like two Aussie girls who have been best friends for a long time.
I step back to hold her at arm’s length, checking her out. Gwen’s taller than me at around five-eight. She’s wearing tight jeans, a red knitted V-neck sweater, and a black quilted fitted jacket with white Converse high-tops.
We’re the same age, but she looks like she’s nineteen. She did one of those ancestry DNA kits a few years ago because she is adopted and was curious to see the results. She found that a small percentage of her ethnicity is Aboriginal, among other findings. But that was as deep as she was ready to go. Her adoptive parents—her two dads, a hot professor and an equally hot veterinarian—are her life.
“I’ve missed you so much. I thought you weren’t arriving until tomorrow afternoon?” I’m surprised and delighted she’s here early.
“Ditto. Now you have me for a full six months.”
“We have no time to waste.” I’m already going to miss her when she leaves, and she only just got here.
“Whoa, Nelly!” She’s frowning, all sense of playfulness dissipating. Gwen places her hands gently on my cheeks. “Who do I have to make bleed?”
“What?”
“Don’t what me! You know you have stitches and a shiner underneath the makeup. Spill.” Nothing gets past my friend.
“I’ll explain later, but honestly, it was a case of head-meets-café-counter, which I don’t need to get reminded of, but I will throw it in as a bonus when we sit down for our catch-up chat. You can release the cheeks now.”
“Sorry, old habits die hard. You used to have the chubbiest cheeks but nowva-va-voom!”
“I was eight!” I roll my eyes, knowing Tucker can’t see my face.
She puts her hands on her hips. “Gee, has it been that long since I have known you? Wow! Wearegetting old.”
