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Is that why I’m so hot too?
Early menopause?
Jesus.
I’m not even thinking like myself.
This is how I imagine Jenna’s brain looks inside. A hot mess.
My brain is usually ordered. Arranged. Tidy.
I’m the sister who always has herself together. Well, except for that month after my breakup with Johnathon. But we don’t ever talk about that time in my life.
Right now, I don’t even know where the real Kristen is. She’s certainly not sitting here having afternoon tea.
“You should come to the spa with us tomorrow,” Charlize says, jolting my attention back to the group.
Good God,no.
Jenna’s told me all about their spa days. Hours of all that emotional sharing they do with each other? No, thank you. My life is complete without all that. I may have tagged along for the weekend, but I made it clear to my sister I wasn’t in for the Saturday spa day that’s become their tradition. I’ll find my own spa to go to, by myself.
I force a smile. “Thank you. I’ll think about it.”
Poppy gives me a knowing look. “That’s code forno fucking way.”
Adeline nods. “It really is.”
The good girl in me, the one I’m doing my best to ditch on the side of a road somewhere, dies a little on the inside at being called out like this. Clearly, my therapist still has her work cut out for her with that part of me. “No, I promise it’s not. I don’t want to intrude on your time together is all.”
Charlize shakes her head. “You’re not intruding on anything, Kristen. We’d love you to come.”
Adeline’s phone saves me from enduring more of this conversation. It rings, and when she checks who the caller is, she announces to everyone, “Oh, this should be good.” Her tone implies that whatever it is, it likelywon’tbe good.
Jenna exchanges glances with her, the kind that business partners share when they’re on the same page. I’m guessing this has something to do with their work.
Adeline pushes her chair back and stands. “Let’s take this outside,” she says to Jenna who promptly stands and follows her out of the restaurant.
I use the opportunity to excuse myself and go to the bathroom. I’m forty minutes into this afternoon tea and need a moment to gather myself.
A text sounds from my phone as I enter the restroom.
Mom: Darling, I just heard that Michael Randall is single again. He’ll be at the gala next Saturday night. I think you should consider changing your dress choice. Perhaps to that gold dress we saw last week.
My chest tightens as I read her text.
Heat flushes my skinagain.
And with the thoughts racing through my mind, I know I reallyamin the middle of a fucking mid-life crisis rather than a transformation.
Galas are my thing.
Socializing is my thing.
I may not have been built for friendship group dinners or spa days, but I excel at parties and galas.
Knowing the right people. Networking with the right people. Connecting the right people. I could do those things in my sleep.
Lately, though, things feel off.
