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Are these kids allowed to be kids? They must be, or Aria’s son wouldn’t attend. Still, though, not even a skinned knee in sight.
Aria Bueller is the one friend I have kept up with since high school, and I’m excited to see her. It’s been too long. When I see a mass of curly red hair coming from the front door, I instantly smile, but to my surprise, it’s not her. When I realize the red is one of those expensive dye jobs, I roll my eyes at myself. I should have known it wasn’t her.
Aria has that Irish lass thing going. Milky skin, bright blue eyes, and wild Merida red curls. I always half expect her to carry a bow and quiver, and the time she got into archery, she had a swarm of guys after her. Aria was the popular one between us in school, so I’m not surprised she got a job working for Billingsley. I presume there is a connection between her and the owner’s kid.
When she bounds out of the building, I grin and wave at her from Mom’s car. She smiles back, effortlessly winding between cars and people until she reaches me. “I’m so glad you could find a spot,” she says, hugging me. “It’s a madhouse today.”
“Can we trade madhouses?”
She giggles. “I hate to rush this, but I only have an hour before Owen gets out of his running club.”
“I thought he was in kindergarten.”
“He is.”
“And he’s in a running club?”
She smiles and her eyes light up. “He loves it.”
I shrug and take off, ending up at Bean-Go, our old favorite coffeehouse downtown. It’s a little grubbier than most places in Somerset Harbor, which is a part of the appeal. Secondhand couches, old bookshelves with the finish worn down in spots. But everything was chosen with care and the owner, Mrs. LaCasse dotes on everyone. It’s like getting coffee with my favorite aunt, and I love it.
We grab some cold brew and pop on a corner sofa. “So,” she begins, “how are you doing?”
I laugh once and shake my head. “Crappy. You?”
Her shoulders slump and she sighs. “Same. God, it is nice to say that.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t get out much—either I’m at work or I’m with Owen. So, getting to complain is usually out of the question.”
“You don’t have work friends?”
Her pretty face scrunches for a moment before she shrugs. “I have people at work I’m friendly with, but it’s not the same thing as someone I can be myself with. I don’t want to get labeled as a complainer there. Getting the preschool teacher job was a miracle, and I’m not going to make waves or say the wrong thing to the wrong person and have it get taken out of context. Some people at work live for drama, but I’ve done a good job of staying out of that mess.”
“Well, what’s crappy for you?”
“It’s not…” She frowns, then sips her cold brew. “I don’t want to sound—
“Aria, it’s me. Just say it.”
“I love my son. He’s the best thing to happen to me. And I am so lucky to have the job I have.”
“But.”
She smirks. “But it would be nice to have a guy around, and I honestly do not have the time or the bandwidth to make that happen.”
“You’re you. I thought guys just fall out of the sky for you.”
She laughs hard. “Not in a very long time, and the moment they hearsingle mom, most of them run for the hills.”
“Guys make things complicated. Who needs them?”
Flatly, she says, “I miss sex, Lily.”
I giggle at her. “Oh. That. Well, you don’t need a guy for that—
“A vibrator doesn’t spoon you.”
