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“Yeah.” Gia sipped from her water glass. It wasn’t wine, but it would pinch hit as a pacifier.
“Do you think she’ll wait for you?”
“Don’t know. She’s going to L.A. for a reality show next month. So, who knows what happens with that.”
Just saying the words “reality show” felt foreign. Clearly, people did that—there wouldn’t be reality shows otherwise. But the little Gia’d seen of them generally showed contestants changing in some way or other. Either they’d act out of character—play a part—or change their character to be what producers told them it should be. Roxi was steadfast in who she was, but would Hollywood change her?
“Here’s the deal,” Derrick interrupted Gia’s runaway thoughts. “Youare a really fantastic person. I mean it. You’re doing the work, Gia. If it’s meant to be, it will be. But you have to love yourself first.”
“Is that some therapy BS?” Gia forced a chuckle.
“It is. But it’s true.”
“I could say the same to you. Fuck Jude. You deserve someone who can love you the way you want.”
“You do, too. Have you thought about asking her to wait for you? I mean, it’s what, five months?”
“Six. And three days.” Gia corrected. Half a year, in fact. It felt like she’d known Roxi forever, but they’d only met in June. When Gia was a mere two weeks sober.
“Whatever. Imagine how good the sex will be after waiting six more months.” Derrick mimed the universal head explosion symbol. “Mark my words.”
“Would you wait?” Gia drained the water glass. Forget pacifying. This topic was dehydrating.
“For the right one. For one where I see my future in his eyes. For the one who looks at methat way, you know? The way that says, ‘you’re my safe place.’ For the man who could be my husband, yes. I’d wait. I might get some on the side—I mean, I’m human. But I’d save my heart for the real deal.”
“You’re such a romantic!”
“I told you, I’m old fashioned.”
“Maybe you’re right.”
“Of course I’m right. I mean, my life is a total shitshow right now—except for real estate. That part’s gravy. But mylifeisn’t exactly Instagram worthy.”
“Here, gimmee your phone.” Gia grabbed across the table. “Let’s make it worthy.”
The selfie showed two friends, arms around each other’s shoulders, big smiles, and a hint of a shared secret. Light from the window made it overexposed in a trendy way.
“There. Put this on your insta. Nothing like a new person in your feed to make them wonder what you’re up to.”
“Only if you do the same.” Derrick was already typing on the tiny keypad.
“Deal.”
???
“That’s right, Benji, keep going. Grab that yellow one!” Gia encouraged from below as her student attacked the bouldering area of the climbing gym. A boy band singing cheery pop rang through the speakers, and a handful of kids cheered their friend. “Look out! Jax is coming for you. He’s on your heels! Go for it! Yeah! Great job both of you. Let’s come on down and let someone else go.”
Gia’d been assigned the 7- and 8-year-olds in class, and Courtney took the 9- and 10-year-olds. Courtney probably thought she was getting the easier group since they were older, but Gia had heard and seen crying on Courtney’s side of the gym from the get-go. Her kids had been happy and easy going as she explained the plan for the day, what bouldering was, and why it came before trying the big wall. No tantrums, no meltdowns. She’d drawn the long straw after all.
“Alright my little rock crawlers! Who wants quesadillas? I know I do. So, if you want ‘em, you’re gonna have to beat me there. Wait! By walking!”
Too late.
Gia forgot a cardinal rule: Challenging children to a race meant they were going to run. And challenging children to a race to a table full of snacks containing melted cheese was unwinnable. Thankfully, the floor was padded. Even if one fell, it would be hard to get hurt. And surely running to lunch was no more dangerous than climbing a fake rock.
Pretending to be a coach for a day was more fun than she’d expected. The kids had taken to calling her Coach Barone, and that had a certain ring to it. It sounded—adult.
Coach Barone.
