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We were down half a bottle of Malbec when I grabbed my phone for a birthday selfie with Gem to send to Bronte and Sam. “Let’s show them what they’re missing.” Gem promptly stuck out her tongue, and I laughed, snapping a few pictures. “Beautiful.”
Gem, Bronte, Sam and I had known one another since college. Though we were separated by state lines and differing job schedules, our friendship was bonded together by years of long talks, hours of crying and laughing, the usual breakups and make-ups, and endless sunsets and sunrises. But we hadn’t all been in the same place together since Bronte had gotten married last summer. Fortunately, Gem’s yoga retreat and conference was in San Francisco and coincided with my birthday so we could celebrate together.
“This is what twenty-eight looks like. Blurry and tipsy on wine before eight o’clock,” Gem said, pointing to one particularly bad picture over my shoulder.
“I love it. I think it captures our spirit. Should we FaceTime them?”
She rolled her hand in a circle, gesturingof course.
A few minutes later, Bronte’s and Sam’s faces appeared on my phone screen, and I ducked down so Gem could be in the frame too.
“Happy birthday, Laney doll!” Bronte crowed. She lived with her husband in Pennsylvania and couldn’t take off work as a middle school teacher to make the cross-country trip.
“What are you up to?” Sam asked, her smile as bright as her purple-and-pink hair. She was in Austin, Texas, with her boyfriend while she finished up her PhD, and even though we’d all—the whole group, including husbands and boyfriends—celebrated New Year’s Eve over Zoom a few weeks ago, it wasn’t enough. I could never get enough of my girls.
I had lots of friends, tons of acquaintances, but I allowed very few people to really know me. And these three women were at the top of that list.
“We’re having dinner at this fancy vegan restaurant,” Gem said.
“I’ve been showing her around,” I added.
Gem leaned into the phone with a mischievous grin. “And telling me about Ethan.”
“Ethan?” Sam pursed her lips in thought. “As in, the heartbreaker?”
Gem nodded. “The high school heartbreaker.”
“It was a hundred years ago,” I said as if my best friends hadn’t been there during those early college days when I’d tried to forget him by any means necessary, including, but not limited to, guys who were not good for me.
“He was the boy you…” Bronte lowered her voice as if the people in the restaurant would be able to hear her over the clatter of dinner service. “Lost your virginity to.”
I rolled my eyes, wishing I’d never even brought it up to loud-mouthed Gem.
“She had a dream about him,” the traitor told Sam and Bronte, leaning in close to the phone again.
I pushed my hair behind my shoulders. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”
“Enough of a deal to tell me about it.” Gem cocked an eyebrow at me. “And you know I think dreams mean something. Remember all those dreams I had while I was pregnant with Willow?”
On the phone screen, Sam waved her fingers. “Okay, let’s hear it.”
I gulped back the rest of my deliciously robust red wine. I wouldn’t call myself a wine snob, but since I’d lived so close to wine country the last five years, I’d become picky. “Okay, so, in the dream, Bobby and I were fighting, and I ran out of the house all upset. And suddenly, Ethan was there, and we were eighteen again.”
Bronte propped her chin on both of her fists like a child at story time. “Then what happened?”
“Nothing really. He hugged me, kissed me on the head, told me it was going to be okay. Then we ate hot dogs. I don’t know where the hot dogs came from.”
Gem shoved me over so she took up the whole frame. “I told her that her subconscious might be thinking about other options besides Bobby if it’s going all the way back to high school.”
“Are you thinking of other options?” Sam asked.
“Well…” I elbowed Gem out of the way. “I mean…it hasn’t been easy lately, you know? Bobby’s making more plans for New York City, and he’s going to LA next week about a possible reality show idea for a new restaurant.”
“Oh shit,” Gem breathed out next to me.
Bronte frowned. “Yeah, that’s a lot to deal with. I’m sorry.”
I was used to it. We’d been together for three years. Bobby ruled a restaurant empire, a superstar chef with occasional guest-hosting gigs on the Food Network. He was handsome, charming, and Australian. What more could a girl want?
