AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Thanks for telling me. I guess we all have regrets, huh?” Gia wondered if that story was actually advice disguised in a memory. Or, was it just an old lady wanting to tell someone about her past?
“It’s impossible not to. You do the best with what you have, dear. Life is timing. Nothing more, nothing less. Timing is everything. So, what’s Roxi doing that’s keeping you apart?”
“Nothing,” Gia said. “It’s me. And my stupid rule. No relationships for a year. But she told me tonight she’s going on a reality show during Christmas break. She’s a singer, but she drives a school bus, so she’s been trying to get on talent shows but had to find one that worked with her schedule, and they don’t film in summer. Then, this one happened. I’m happy for her, but it felt like a punch in the gut. ‘Cause, like, what if she gets far into it and doesn’t come back? What if they realize what a great singer she is and she ends up a star overnight and I’m still waiting for a year to pass so I can’t do anything and the window closes?”
“And what if, everything happens the way it’s supposed to?” Jennifer smiled that pale yellow smile.
Silence, save for the buzz of old porchlights putting out too little light.
“That, too.”
Coach Barone
Gia needed to talk to someone.Anyone would do—except Roxi. And Roxi was the person she was supposed to call when she felt temptation creep into her conscience. When the trickles of desire turned into full-fledged rivers, Roxi said she would be there. But what about when Roxiwasthe temptation? What about when Roxi caused a cyclone of repeating thoughts that led to thoughts of numbing the cyclone? When numbing the cyclone meant just one drink? Two, tops? She could call Mikael; he’d listen. Or her mother, who wouldn’t.
She’d call neither. No, she’d repeat her mantra, write in her journal, go to work, and pretend everything was as she wanted it. She’d return missed texts from the day before, acknowledging Courtney’s new weightlifting routine, accepting the dinner with Derrick—could they do it that evening?—and inquire as to why the hell her mother was ‘okay.’
Mrs. Edelman’s story had stuck with her—star-crossed lovers meant for each other, but unable to make it happen. Was her neighbor’s fate a preview of what was to come? If Roxi went to Los Angeles for the singing competition and succeeded—as Gia felt she should on talent alone—what then? Agents and records and touring? Or massive disappointment from another lost opportunity? Would Roxi be the same in either scenario?
“Get your head together,” Gia said into the pink pig mirror as she worked pomade into her dark hair. It was definitely ponytail worthy. But was that a grey? Certainly not. She was a month away from her thirty-third birthday. Way too young to find grey hair. She plucked it and tossed it in the trash can beside the sink. Wait, would two more grow back now?
When did you go grey?Gia texted Gianna.And you’re OK about what? Are you still in Colorado?
Just as soon as she’d returned the phone to the edge of the pedestal sink where it waited for her to finish her ablutions, Gianna replied.
I don’t know. Been dyin my hair since you were in knickers.
That explained the henna red, Gia thought. And was of absolutely no help. As usual. So, she flipped the phone on its face on the sink, again. And again, it buzzed the special tone for her mother—the Darth Vader march.
Oh I left that asshole. He tried to take all my money and steal my car. Back in Flagstaff. I’m okay.
There it was.
Gianna’d fallen for another deadbeat and that time, had moved her life for him.
“I wonder where I get it from,” Gia said to the woman in the mirror and didn’t bother to text back. On her way out the door, she grabbed a map out of the junk drawer for a quick consultation. It was under the $2 bill she’d shoved in there—a full circle reminder of her mother’s move and return to where she started. Flagstaff was a nearly 700-mile journey from Colorado Springs. Gianna’s Honda wasn’t new any longer. What it must be like to have a vehicle that could take two long road trips back-to-back like that. Giapssh’dat the thought and headed to climb in the passenger door of her hatchback.
???
He was seated in the back of the restaurant, head bowed, looking at a phone. Gia walked past the host’s stand on a mission. A full workday had done nothing to quell the repeating thought pattern; surely, conversation with an interesting person who wasn’t in her regular rotation would.
Derrick had dressed for the occasion, or more likely, hadn’t changed after work. His navy-blue suit brought out the indigo in his eyes, and the clear glasses he was wearing only reinforced the Clark Kent image Gia had assigned him. Her khakis and new button-up shirt—used for the second time that week—paired with a pair of black Chuck Taylors seemed insolvably inappropriate. Nothing she could do about it, even if there was time to do something about it.
“You look nice.” Gia pulled a chair from under the white tablecloth of their window table. There’s no way this read as anything other than a date. Suited man. Single candle burning. An ice bucket with a bottle chilling.
Derrick had a good-natured smile. Gentle. Genuine. “I was showing houses and didn’t have time to change. I’m so glad you wanted to get together. I could use a friend today.”
“Me, too.” Gia picked up the menu and confirmed something she already knew. This restaurant was out of her budget. Oh well. She’d been saving for a new car and could justify using some of the cash to help herself feel better. “What’s going on with you?”
Overhead, classical music played through the speakers, and around them people were enjoying plates of oysters served on China and champagne in flutes. Derrick was clearly fancy.
“What isn’t?”
“I’m gonna need more than that!”
“Bah.” Derrick shook his head and looked to the ceiling. “It’s—Jude and I broke up last night. He said he’s poly and wanted me to agree to him seeing other guys. I can’t get onboard with that. It’s old-fashioned, but I’m a one man, man. Period. I can’t share.”
Gia put down the menu and took in the person across the table. The Brooks Brothers look was an image—Derrick’s brow was furrowed, his lips were pursed into a tight frown, and he wiped at the edges of his nose with a knuckle.
