I stir honey into my tea and then open my laptop. My therapist advised that I write down everything that’s transpired, so I start at the beginning.
Do I know you? I type, and then I can’t help but smile.
Maybe it’s only a single line so far, but it’s the first step in a new and improved life.
I’m not sure what’s going to happen next for me, and that’s truly refreshing. I’ve had every moment of every day plotted out since I was sixteen. I always feared the loss of control, but I realize now that my greatest failing was in not loosening up.
The well-appointed woman peers at me over her Whole Foods shopping cart, brimming with free-range chicken, organic fruit, and glass-bottled Kombucha.
I may not be proud of everything I’ve done after I finish writing this story, but I absolutely believe it’s the necessary, most cathartic next step. Geri insists I should try to get published, but maybe I should write more than the first two lines before I shop for an agent.
I close my eyes and try to remember what happened that first day when someone jostles my table.
“Here’s what I’ve figured out—Geri’s going to stay at your place and she promises she’ll keep up with Trevor and Bryce’s casseroles while we’re away. Oh, and I finally found your passport in your underwear drawer. Which is a major bonus, because it’s not exactly like you can board an international flight without one.”
My eyes fly open. “I’m sorry, I think you—” Then I realize I recognize not only the names of all parties involved, and the voice, but also the face.
The most handsome face I’ve ever seen, with kind robin’s egg blue eyes and tawny hair and the most magnificent tan.
“Boyd?”
My heart immediately begins to hammer out of my chest. “Boyd, what are you doing here?”
He points at his tray laden with salad bar items. “Meeting you for lunch? I’m a little early, but I finished at the travel agency so I figured you might like the company.” He glances down again. “Shoot, I meant to grab a Kombucha. Be right back, Ray.”
Then Boyd kisses me on the crown of my head before he saunters away from our table and lopes down the stairs to the beverage coolers. I immediately grab my phone and dial Geri, but it goes to voice mail and the same happens with Deva.
I need answers and I need them fast, so I type Boyd’s full name into a search engine. The first hit is a news article about how the Rip Curl surf company in Queensland, Australia, has signed professional surfer Boyd to represent their brand and he’s due down there for a press conference.
I guess he’s not just a bartender anymore.
But how did he end up here?
With me?
Making travel plans?
I mean, Boyd doesn’t need to be anything but a bartender—I realize that now. And I believe that once I finish figuring myself out, I’d have gone back for him. Yet somehow, someone decided to speed up my own personal timeline.
But who and how and why?
An employee rushes past so quickly rolling a garbage can that it creates a breeze on the back of my neck.
Oh, my ponytail.
Geri must have taken my ponytail to Deva and perpetrated one of the more complicated methods of swapping with me. I wondered why Deva had been avoiding me. I’d thought we were cool when we were in the emergency room with Geri, but then she was all weird a day later, claiming she needed space.
Deva didn’t require “space”; she simply couldn’t keep a secret.
When I count my blessings, Deva’s at the top of the list. She’s the first woman friend who ever liked me in spite of all my terrible qualities. She saw the potential of the person I could be and she stuck with me. I so look forward to showing her exactly how good a friend I can be.
Astral projection would account for all the time I was out for the past few weeks when I thought I was sick. But why would anyone want to body swap with me?
I quickly group text both Geri and Deva: Did you do this??
Deva replies first:
Pack your nun-screen, Regal Beagle—Austria is hat!
And from Geri . . . my sister and my friend, who is wise in ways I never thought possible:
Sometimes we all need a push.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
For all my readers, I’m forever in your debt. Thank you for continued support, especially those of you who’ve been there since the first iteration of Jennsylvania. Please know how hard you rock. Every time I see your happy faces at an event, I can’t get over how lucky I am to have this job. You are truly the best!
A million thanks go to my editor, Tracy Bernstein, for continuing to push me. I’m better at what I do because of your guidance. As always, heartfelt thanks go to Kara Welsh and Claire Zion for letting me do my thing and never once saying, “Time travel? Body swapping? Are you sure?” Ham-handed high fives from Deva and me. For Craig Burke and Melissa Broder, thank you for your tireless efforts! Sales, Marketing, and Production, you are my Dream Team, and Mimi Bark, just when I think you can’t possibly do a more fantastic cover, BAM. Here you go again.
For Scott Miller, Super Agent, you, you’re very good. (And thanks for keeping everyone calm when I broke the news about my new three-wheeled bike.) For Tiffany Ward and Jon Cassir of CAA, I send the kindest regards.
I’d be nowhere without my family of choice—Joanna, Atlanta Julia, Stacey, Gina, Karyn, and Tracey. The world is better—and so much more fun—because of y’all. (See, Julia? I totally speak Southern.)
Huge thanks for my literary sisters Beth Harbison and Sarah Pekkanen for your advice and guidance, and for the Perpetual Awesome that is Emily Giffin, Jennifer Weiner, and Lisa Lampanelli. And big kisses to early readers Benjamin Kissell, Lisa De Pasquale, and Alyson Ray. XOXO!
For Christine Weiler, M.A., L.P.C., thank you for all your insight into Cognitive and Behavioral Therapy. Any mistakes in this book are mine. (Which clearly would be the case anyway, but I still wanted to get that on record.)
Finally, for Fletch, for everything, but especially for not giving me too much grief over the three-wheeled bike. Love you.
And I also love my ginormous cherry red adult tricycle.
(But that’s part of my charm, yes?)
Twisted Sisters Page 27
