“Omigod!” I cry, slamming a hand on the bar. “That’s big news, Lara.”
“First time I’m taking it this far with a man,” she says, making a strained face, her neck pulling taut for a second. “But it’ll be great. We’re ready.”
“Lara,” Jackie says in between two large gulps, “I’m totally happy for you! Forget all that stuff I just said.”
“Thanks,” Lara says with a choppy laugh. She begins to draw small circles on the bar with her finger.
“But you’re never really ready,” Jackie blurts out. “I hope you’ve got yourself a great man—and it sounds like Nathan’s a totally stand-up guy, don’t hear me wrong. Just hope he really is great, because sometimes I feel like I want to pull out my fuckin’ hair.”
“Oh, Jackie,” I groan, taking a long drink. “So negative.”
“I’m serious.” She brushes her fingers through her pixie cut, then drops her elbows to the bar. “I’m married to a workaholic, and I’m miserable.” She plonks her chin into her hands and turns her heavy diamond ring around her ring finger. Abruptly, she pulls her head up and looks straight at Lara. “But you’re a workaholic, babe, so maybe everything will work out for you.”
I contort my face into an expression of confusion. “What are you talking about, Jackie?”
“Don’t pretend Lara’s not glued to that office of hers,” Jackie says, giving me a vacant look. “That BlackBerry. Her emails. Her work life.”
“Well, yeah,” I say. “Of course, Lara’s the career chick.”
I glance at Lara, and she gives an easy shrug.
“But,” I say, “what does that matter or have anything to do with her moving in with Nathan—”
“He’s moving in with me,” Lara corrects.
I nod and say, “What does her obsession with her work have to do with anything, Jackie?”
“I don’t know,” Jackie grumbles, dropping her chin right back down into her hands. “She and Nathan both love what they do. They both work. A lot. Guess they’re a match made in heaven.”
Jackie stops her rant for a moment, lifts up her cocktail to drink, but then sets the glass down before taking a sip. “I’m just saying that marriage can change the game,” she goes on. “Getting so serious that you’re living together—coordinating your lives and shit—it—” She purses her lips and stares off across the bar. “It changes things.”
“Jackie—” Lara begins.
But Jackie picks right back up, eyes still trained on the colorful shimmer of bottles arranged on the wall behind the bar. “Andrew says if I actually did something with my days then I wouldn’t be so annoyed with his leaving all the time,” she says. “That’s why you and Nathan will probably do just fine, Lara.” She looks to Lara and gives her a weak grin.
“He’s probably right,” Lara says meekly. “I know I’d probably be upset, like you, Jack, if I was alone all day long waiting for Nathan to come home.”
“But what can I do?” Jackie cries helplessly. “I don’t want a job.” She winces. “I can’t even hang on to a job. I’m so bad at jobs.”
“There’s always hobbies,” I suggest. “Do some photography with me. I can teach you!” The mere idea gets me excited.
“That’s a great idea!” Lara chimes in. “Or help Robin plan her wedding…or the baby shower, even! You love fashion and styling and stuff. I’m sure you could do a great job on events like those.”
“I did do a good job helping Claire out with Rose’s shower,” Jackie says in a delicate tone.
“And keeping up with your appointments to Dr. Milbanke is a good idea, too,” Lara says sagely. “You still do therapy, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course,” Jackie answers with a sigh.
“The first few years of marriage are tough, so I’ve heard,” I tell Jackie. “You’re still in year one so,” I give her a side hug, “don’t worry your pretty little head.” I kiss the top of her bleached head. “Okay?”
“Hey,” Lara says as Jackie looks like she’s beginning to perk back up. “How’s this? You can help Sophie and Claire get Emily a blind date. Those two slow pokes are dragging their feet.”
“Just no more Ricks,” I say.
“Oh, God no,” Jackie groans. She takes a hearty gulp of her cocktail, coming back around to her cheerful and colorful self once more. “Come on. Let’s see if I can find you a piece of man meat tonight.” She grabs my hand and leads me back to the dance floor.
I look back at Lara, who’s sitting there in her personal fit of hysterics. She manages to mouth an, “I’m sorry” to me as Jackie drags me to the center of the floor, right under the beaming, bright blue spotlight, and begins to shake her booty in ways that, really, only Andrew should be privy to.
“Dear God,” I mouth to Lara with wide eyes.
“Come on, sister!” Jackie squeals, managing some sort of a spin and jump move. “Let’s. Get. This. Part-ay. Starrrrrted!”
***
“You look like death,” Sophie says as she dries her hands across her apron. She twists her mouth to the side and looks on across the kitchen at me in a sympathetic manner. “Are you getting any sleep?”
“Jackie’s crashing at my place for a while,” I say in what I’m pretty sure sounds like a lifeless tone. I don’t know why I’m so bushed. Going out to the bars and clubs two nights in a row doesn’t normally tucker me out. Then again, I usually don’t have to traipse off to work early the next morning.
Yesterday morning I had a pre-dawn shoot for some sailboat shots for the magazine, and this morning I had an appointment with five-dozen scones at the café. I’m barely scraping by, already having downed two double-shot espressos and halfway through my latte.
“Going out all the time, are you?” Sophie says with another sympathetic look. “I wish I could go out with you girls. God, to let loose a little more often on a school night would be awesome.”
“Until you have to work the next day.” I draw two bold tick marks on the chalkboard.
“Yeah, and this place runs my life.” Sophie briskly walks to the ovens and adjusts some dials. “Love it, but it’s work.”
“Ladies,” Gatz says, peering from around the corner.
Sophie starts to gather up her long, silky hair into a ponytail. “What’s up, Gatz?”
“Customer out here wants to know if you have any gluten-free items, and if not wants to know which ones are certified organic. Oh!” He smacks a palm to his forehead. “And if all eggs are farm-fresh, free-range, and local?” He raises a befuddled brow.
Sophie heaves an annoyed sigh. “I’ll deal.” She tightens her ponytail. “Gatz, you take charge of the rest of the scones; I’ll cover the front.”
“Gotcha!” Gatz skips over to the oven and as he’s peering through the glass pane says, “So, Em. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I mumble. “Sophie already said I look like death.”
“Ouch!” He pulls a drying towel from the lower oven handle bar and begins to play with it like it’s a set of nunchucks. “Harsh, huh? You just look really beat. Everything okay?”
“A friend’s staying with me, and she has, oh…” I click my tongue on the roof of my mouth. “…shall we say a penchant for hitting the nightclubs and staying until they close? All the time.”
The timer for the oven goes off, and I slip on a potholder.
“My scones?” he asks.
“Nope.” I dodge his ninja-moving cloth. “These are my cookies.”
I remove the piping hot sheet of lemon drop cookies and inhale their sweet and citrusy scent. I look at Gatz, who’s making way for me to pass by with the hot goods. His wavy hair is messed about all over his head, as usual, and his brown eyes look tired themselves, very light rings forming.
“You don’t look so hot yourself, Gatz,” I say and stick out my tongue. I quickly place the baking sheet on the table, the heat beginning to seep through the thick cotton of the potholder, the tips of my fingers becoming itchy.
Gatz hops over, now wielding and twirling a spatula. “Late-night studying.”
“You have a degree,” I say, my tone slightly avuncular. “You’ve been through the hellish life of late-night studying, yet you still put yourself through this?” I motion to take the spatula from him, but he jerks it back.
“I’ve got it,” he says with a smug grin. “You might fall asleep on the job.”
“Oh, ha, ha.” I lean against the adjacent counter. Actually, he might be right. I try to suppress a yawn, but I can’t manage it. I open my mouth wide and squeeze my eyes shut.
“I know,” he says, “but there are some fun courses out there to audit, so why not?” He moves the spatula about swiftly, depositing the small cream-colored cookies onto the cooling rack. “How’s my going to class any different than you going to that book club of yours?” He blows a large chunk of hair from his view and flashes a toothy grin. “Not any different, is it?” he asks, still flipping, by rote, the cookies from the sheet to the rack.
“I’m pulling late-nighters reading books for pleasure,” I point out.
“I audit courses for pleasure.” Gatz tosses the spatula in the air, catching it perfectly by the grip. “And,” he points the spatula at me, “if I recall correctly, I overheard you a while back telling Sophie how agonizing Pride and Prejudice was for you.”
“Okay, you win,” I say. I lean back against the wall and close my eyes.
“Besides, I’ve actually been considering getting a second Bachelors, maybe shooting for the Masters.”
I whistle impressively in response.
“We’ll see. Just an idea for now.”
“At UDub?” I ask, eyes still closed.
“Yeah, but maybe through an exchange program or something. Work on my degree abroad, maybe.”
I open my eyes and grin. “Those sound like some big plans, eh?” I cross my arms over my chest and a small yawn parts my lips.
“Just ideas for now,” he replies casually, giving another spin to the spatula.
“So where you thinking of studying?”
“Oh, it’s an idea, a dream, I guess. Haven’t really thought about it too much.” He shrugs. “Could be as close as Mexico, or as far as New Zealand.” He guffaws as he flips the spatula once more.
“New Zealand would be awesome,” I say excitedly, propping a foot against the wall behind me. “Of course, Mexico would be pretty kick ass, too. I backpacked around there for a month four summers ago, think it was.” I scratch my forehead. “Oaxaca and Chiapas mostly. Wandered all over there—front and back alleys kind of thing.”
“Bet that was pretty kick ass.”
“Oh yeah.” I lean more into the wall, against my foot. “That’s really cool, Gatz. Cool that you’re considering studying abroad. I did it when I was in college and I loved it. Kind of paved the way for the rest of my travels.”
He shrugs again, busying himself with the cookies, eyes moving from sheet to rack, sheet to rack. “An idea, we’ll see. Sophie’d probably flip out if I actually was going to leave.”
I chuckle and say, “Yeah, I think she’d definitely have a cow over that news.”
“Hel-loooo,” a cheerful voice rings out.
I flick my eyes open immediately, and then comes the sweetest voice ever. “Hiiiiiii!”
“Rose!” I say. “Robin!”
“Hey, there,” Robin says, clutching a pink, quilted bag to her side and inching her way into the kitchen. Rose has her hand in her mom’s and is making small but sprightly steps.
“Rosie!” I outstretch my arms and wiggle my fingers. “How’s the darlingest baby in the world?”
“Emmie!” Rose says loudly with a huge smile.
“She’s getting those names down,” Robin says proudly. She lets go of Rose’s hand, and Rose totters to me.
Robin and Gatz exchange greetings while I sweep in and pick up Rose, spinning around twice and making her giggle.
“Momma,” Rose says after catching her breath. She’s pointing a tiny blue finger at Robin.
“That’s right.” I hug Rose tighter to my chest. “Momma.” I look at Robin, “Hey, what’s with her blue fingers?”
“Blueberries,” Robin says resignedly. “They’re her new favorite thing. I give her a bowl and she goes to town.”
“My kid brother went through that phase,” Gatz says. “A couple months ago, actually.” He clicks off the timer that’s just started to sound and pulls open the oven door.
“How old’s your kid brother?” I ask through a laugh. “Isn’t he a little old to be going through a blueberry phase?”
“Turned two last month,” Gatz replies candidly.
“Two years?” I ask, taken aback. “Wow.” Robin and I exchange surprised looks. “I didn’t know you had such a young brother.”
“My parents felt the call to adopt,” he says, moving from one end of the kitchen to the next with hot scones in hand.
“Wow,” I breathe out again.
“He’s a really cool little guy.” He sets the sheet down and begins to move the freshly baked scones to the cooling rack. “His biological mother was just a kid when she had him. Crack addict or something tragic.” He adjusts his headband as best he can with his forearm. “We saved the little guy. Nicholas is his name. Love that little dude.”
“That’s awesome,” Robin exclaims. “I hate the thought of all those poor, innocent children out there born into less than stellar circumstances, to parents who couldn’t care less.” She shakes her head and instinctively touches her stomach.
“I thought my parents were crazy at first, wanting to adopt, and at their age. But then Nicholas came along and it’s, yeah, it’s pretty damn cool.” He gives a big, goofy grin, then takes a look at his watch. “Well, I’ve got a five-minute break coming up right about now, so I’m going to step outside.”
He gives a small wave to Rose as he passes, then catches himself at the passageway between the kitchen and the front, and back-steps a couple paces. “Robin, you just got engaged, didn’t you?” He points an inquisitive finger at her.
“Yes, I did,” she says with a shimmer.
“And she’s expecting a little boy!” I add with enthusiasm.
Robin nods and Gatz says, “Congratulations. I assume you’ll be getting your wedding cake here at The Cup and the Cake, so if I’m on shift when it’s time to pull cake-baking duty, I’ll be sure to make it extra tasty.”
Robin laughs and takes Rose from me. Rose has been squirming in my arms for the past minute or so and now, though I wish I could just cuddle her longer, she’s finding her way back to her momma.
Robin turns to me, eyes wide as golf balls, and says, “Girlfriend. Now I can give you the gossip.”
“What?” I arrange the lemon drop cookies neatly on a cake stand. “Brandon news?”
“Oh, no.” Robin brusquely shakes her head. “I’ve got at least until turkey time ’til I have to deal with that catastrophe.” She hikes Rose higher up onto her hip. “It’s about Jaime.”
“Jaime? The hot blind date?” I bite my bottom lip. “He still wants to go out with me, doesn’t he? You made him sound so yummy and all.”
“He definitely wants to go out with you. This weekend, in fact.” Robin takes a cookie from the cake stand and takes a bite. “Mmm. Delish.” She holds the cookie up to Rose. “Here, babe, try.”
“Twy! A cookie! Twy!” Rose says, then she cautiously takes the cookie into her blue-stained hand and takes a bite.
“Those cookies are delish, Jaime’s delish,” Robin licks her fingers, “and you two are so going to hit it off. Ohhh, this time next year you might find yourself engaged.”
“Ha!” I shout, clanging the spatula onto the table. “Now that’s frickin’ hilarious.”
“Hey, crazier things have happened.” She licks her thumb once more and winks.
Chapter Eighteen
“I think there’s something I should tell you first,” Robin says over the phone. Her voice sounds filled with he
sitation.
“Make it quick, dear,” I say, putting on a fresh application of Carmex. “I’m meeting Jaime any second now.” I smack my lips, then toss the pot into the brown leather hobo bag Jackie got me for my birthday some years back. “We’re going for dinner at Rory and Diane’s. Fab-ulous choice, isn’t it?”
I pull out a wrinkled wad of bills from my bag and search for some singles.
“I’m sorry I was rotten and didn’t tell you sooner,” Robin whines.
“Rotten? What are you talking about?” I pull some one dollar bills from the wad and clamp my empty coffee mug on top of them. “Oh no!” I gasp, imagining the worst-case scenario. I tighten my grip on my phone. “He’s not coming, is he? Prince Eric’s bailing, huh?”
“No, nothing like that,” she rushes out. “It’s…well… Oh, I didn’t tell you because I was worried you wouldn’t be interested in him after all, and he’s a totally great guy who so deserves a chance.”
The clang of heavy bells sound, signaling the opening of the front door to the coffee shop where I’ve agreed to meet Jaime. I swivel my eyes to the door, expecting to find my tall, dark, and handsome date. It’s just two women.
“Tell me what, Robin?” I say in hushed tones. I’m beginning to feel nervous about the date, no thanks to Robin’s last-minute call. I rifle in my bag and find my Greek Kombolói and skittishly rub the beads between my thumb and index finger. If now’s not the time to worry and whip these babies out, when is?
“Don’t be mad, just hear me out,” she says placidly.
I really hope whatever Robin’s hesitating at letting me in on doesn’t quash the potential of this date. Jaime sounds like an awesome guy. I mean, he’s suggested only one of my most favorite restaurants for dinner, which I’ve recently been craving. How perfect is that?
Rory and Diane’s is a family-owned restaurant that’s been around for generations, over in historic Pioneer Square. I passed by not long ago when I was taking shots of the totem poles around town, and my mouth instantly started watering for the tastiest burger in Seattle.
“All right,” Robin says, sounding like she’s finally gathered the gumption to break her news. “Jaime’s—”
When Girlfriends Take Chances Page 16
