“Got a point,” I say with a light laugh. “Just next time you do, try not to burn the place down.”
“Oh!” she shouts, making our last turn. She ambles towards the drive. “Forgot to tell you. I ordered you a new sofa.”
“You what?”
She shifts the gear into park behind Robin’s old Nissan and kills the engine. “Since I ruined your old one.”
I scoff. “That thing was already ruined before you, babe. You didn’t have to go and buy me a new one.” I pick up my patchwork bag and open the car door.
“Well, I did,” she says proudly, popping out her door. “It’s a really swanky piece I found in this fancy Euro furniture magazine thingy.” She removes her large designer bag from the backseat of the car, along with her Louis Vuitton dog carrier that contains a silent and complacent Bella. “You’ll totally love it. All black and sleek and sexy.”
“You and your catalogue shopping,.”
Jackie trots up alongside me as I walk the pristine pathway to the large front door.
“Hey,” she says in a mock-serious tone, “the last black, sexy thing I ordered for you from a catalogue landed you some hot sex.”
I laugh loudly. “And that was about it.”
“Still,” she says, trying the door’s handle. It’s evidently locked, so she pounds her fist hard against the door several times. “Hot sex is hot sex,” she says, cavalier, looking over her shoulder. “Sometimes that’s all you need, am I right?”
She rings the bell a couple of times, then shouts, “Robin! We’re freezin’ our patooties off out here.” She jumps lightly on the balls of her feet. “Coooome ooooon!”
Chapter Thirty
“Thanks a million for helping me out here,” Robin says, curling a long string of red, metallic ribbon. “I can’t keep Santa’s surprises hidden from Rose a moment longer.”
“She find your secret hiding spot under your bed?” Lara asks. She motions to the roll of tape by Claire.
“And the secret spot in my art room,” Robin says. “And the secret spot in the kitchen pantry.”
“Can you believe Christmas is next week?” Claire says. She passes the roll of tape to Lara.
“Can you believe a two-year-old needs so many toys?” I say, looking at Robin, who’s now curling green, metallic ribbon.
“Trust me,” she replies. “Once you have kids of your own you’ll be doing the same exact thing. The baby aisles are massive and even though my checkbook isn’t, a mom just can’t help herself.” She fluffs the mound of ribbon on top of a large, wrapped box of what I think is a toy vacuum cleaner.
“Ohhh, I can’t wait to have one of my own,” Claire says dreamily, clutching her hands to her heart. “I so envy you, Robin.”
“Soon enough,” Sophie says. She pauses from her impeccable wrapping job and takes a sip of hot cocoa. “Be patient. I’m sure you and Conner aren’t far behind.”
“I hope not.” Claire fondles a plush hippopotamus. “Hey! When are you doing Robin’s pregger photos, by the way, Em?”
“Uhhh…” I look at Robin. “Two, three weeks maybe?”
“After the shower’s good,” Robin answers with a purse of the lips. “Maybe day after?” She sticks a label on the beautifully wrapped present and begins work on the next one—a big, colorful book.
“Babe?” Bobby’s voice sounds as he emerges from the hallway. “She’s officially sound asleep. Had to read her two whole stories to get her to feel sleepy, but alas.” He bends down and gives Robin a light kiss on her forehead.
“Thank you,” she says. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
“Wow.” Bobby’s wearing an apparent expression of surprise. He stuffs his hands loosely in his back pockets. “That’s a lot of stuff!”
“A woman should always be spoiled,” Jackie says. She’s leaning back against the ottoman, flipping through one of the colorful baby books.
“You ladies have fun,” he says. He gives Robin another kiss. “I’ll be in the living room if you need me, honey.”
“God, he’s perfect,” Lara says once Bobby disappears. “I’m really glad seeing Brandon didn’t work out, Robin. I know you wanted it to, but I’m glad it didn’t.”
“Me, too,” Claire pipes in.
“Me, three,” says Jackie.
“Uh,” Sophie says, “Obviously me, four.”
Eyes turn to me, Robin’s looking expectantly, and I say, “Life is fine without him around, Robin. Bobby’s all the dad Rose will ever need.”
“And he’s all the man you’ll ever need,” Jackie says factually.
“Yeah,” Sophie says, “it’s tough to find such a solid guy.”
“Tell me about it,” Lara says in a derisive tone.
“Things with Nathan still kinda rocky?” Robin queries cautiously.
“What is this about?” Sophie exclaims.
“Yeah, what’s this?” Claire and I say together.
“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Lara makes a hushing motion with her hands. “There is nothing to talk about.” She begins to flip the ribbon curler around in her hands. “A little rocky, that’s all. It’s just the stress of the holidays, figuring out who’s going where; work’s particularly demanding for me right now; changes are going on at Nathan’s work he’s not happy about…and it’s just small but annoying habits that come with the territory of moving in together, getting used to sharing one home. No bigs.”
“It’ll all work out,” Robin says sweetly. “Like you said, only those little rocky bumps when you start living together after a while, and every day stress on top of things… Happened to Bobby and me when we first moved in together.”
“Yeah,” I say, “Robin’s right. You’re right. But overall things are still pretty good between you two, aren’t they?” I raise a questioning eyebrow.
“Yes, of course,” Lara says with a light blush. “But let’s just say thank God I’m hanging with you girls tonight and I’m going to my mother’s for Christmas. I think a little apart-time is much-needed.”
“Well,” Sophie breathes, “like I said. Finding a solid guy is not easy.” She quickly jerks her head to Lara. “Of course I’m sure everything with Nathan will turn out just fine.”
We all give Lara strong nods of agreement.
“And when you’ve got the solid guy,” Sophie continues, “hold on. They’re few and far between. God knows we tried to help Em out.”
“Operation Blind Date is officially over,” Claire says, a heavy note of disappointment in her voice. “Officially done, a bust, and such a drag.”
Lara and Jackie say “mmmhmm” simultaneously.
“Not really, girls,” I say. “There were some good ones in there.”
“None that lasted, though,” Sophie says.
“And Chad coming as your final date, to fill in.” A sickened look overcomes Claire. “What a total flop. You know?” She taps her index finger on her chin, that scheming look in her eyes. “I should so get a second shot. I mean, my date didn’t show up, so that means I get another chance, right?” She pans around the room, anticipatory.
“Wrong,” I say with a laugh, holding up my hand. “First, I go out with Sophie’s allegedly gay brother.” I glance at Sophie. “I don’t think he is, by the way, but what do I know?”
Sophie shrugs as she presses a piece of tape to a box.
“Then I show up for my last date, looking all fancy and stuff, and who shows up? Not Shane the hottie entrepreneur but Chad!” I nervously look to Sophie, then quickly avert my eyes to the floor. Awkward moment…
“Whatever,” Sophie says in an airy and oblivious tone. “We tried, we failed, your love is out there somewhere, Emily.”
“But I should so have another chance at this, girls!” Claire whines.
“No,” Lara says. “We’ve put her through enough trouble. Emily’s never had a problem finding herself romance, anyhow. She’ll find her man when the time comes.”
“Yeah,” Robin says cheerily.
“It’s up to
fate, right?” Sophie says. “If the games don’t work, then I guess fate’ll have to do something.”
“Something like that,” I say with a small smile. “Yeah.”
Jackie makes one loud “Ha!” then says, “Sure, if fate has her dream man in Africa.” She rolls her eyes and slurps on her hot cocoa.
“What?” Robin asks, a perplexed expression crossing her face.
“You’re going back to Ghana?” Sophie says.
“Zambia, isn’t it?” Jackie says.
“So you are going through with it!” Lara nods knowingly. “I knew it.”
“When?” Robin asks, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Spring,” I say, purposely not meeting her sad eyes. “About March.”
“You’re going to miss the wedding?” Claire says, flabbergasted.
I bring my eyes round to meet Robin’s, discomfited. “I hope not,” I say simply and in a low voice. “I really hope not, Robin.”
“We haven’t settled on a wedding date yet,” Robin says. She sounds slightly more upbeat all of a sudden. “Maybe we’ll have a summer wedding.”
“Oh, no!” Claire’s hands fly up into the air. “But we’ve been planning a spring one, Robin.”
Robin’s eyes, locked intently with mine, tell me that she understands. They almost tell me, almost, that if she were in my shoes, she’d do the same thing.
“It’ll be all right,” Robin says tenderly. “Fate’ll do its thing, won’t it?”
I give her a warm, tight-lipped smile, and say, “Yeah. Distance has never pulled us apart before.”
“Exactly.” Robin smoothes her hands over her stomach. “And I don’t think Operation Blind Date is quite over.”
“What do you mean?” Claire’s agog.
Robin, eyes still smiling at me, says, “This Africa trip just might be date number six, don’t you think, Em?”
“Might be.” I make a comforting shrug and bring my sweet mug of cocoa to my lips. “I like the sound of that, Robin.”
***
That was the last time the girls and I got together before Christmas. Robin’s suggestion that volunteering in Zambia was kind of like date number six in our silly game has stuck with me ever since. Of course I don’t want to miss out on her wedding, but I also can’t miss out on a really important volunteer opportunity, and one that’s been shouting at me for months.
Plus, I don’t think I’ll have to miss out on that chance, after all. On Christmas Eve, the application from United Care Initiative became available, and without a moment’s hesitation I applied. I called Robin afterward, letting her know what I’d done (and that I wouldn’t know for a while if I’d be selected). She said she was genuinely happy for me and that Zambia would definitely complete the African photo book we finally agreed upon. Oh, and she also said she had really high hopes that Zambia—this sixth date—would work out perfectly.
Christmas and New Year’s came and went, with all of the usual bells, holiday tunes, pile of gifts, celebration, countdown with bubbly, and the cheerful company of family. I went to Boston for the holidays, and it was really great to see my parents. I hadn’t been back there since the summer. Seeing them and going to Boston wasn’t only a nice visit and a fun trip out, but it reminded me that true love really is out there for me. Some day. My parents, intrepid travelers themselves, found one another and have been happily married and in love for thirty-something years. Surely my love is out there, too.
In some way, shape, or form, true love is always out there. For instance, this chance to go to Zambia—that’s love. All right, maybe not a scintillating, romantic love with a man, but it’s still a pretty serious love affair. It’s one that leaves me feeling happy and content, fulfilled and excited.
True love in the form of a man, who can love and accept me for exactly who I am, and I him, is out there somewhere. I just haven’t found him yet.
My horoscope this morning, in fact, says that I should keep an attentive eye open this week, because what I am searching for will become clearer. Jackie said it probably means I’ll get the letter of acceptance into the African well-repair program, but it could mean I’ll bump into my true love. (All right, the more that I really think about it, Jackie could be right, or my “bump into love” will be a really neat photography assignment from the magazine or something.)
Before I shut the front door of my apartment, I stop in my tracks and race back inside. I grab Save Me the Waltz from the tattered and slightly stripped futon and jam it inside my patchwork bag.
Jackie and I tore apart my futon last night. The area Jackie burned with a cigar and then patched up with hideous neon purple thread has been removed. I’m getting my new couch delivered today, and they’re hauling away my old futon. I was reluctant to let it go, reminiscing about how many years and experiences the piece has seen me through. Jackie reminded me of the need for every woman to have at least one pair of sexy, black lace underwear, and said the same applied to worn-out futons. “Out with the old, in with the new!” she said. “Moving on up!”
Before I could part with my futon, however, I had to take a little memento. I plan on creating a new patchwork handbag, and this piece with Jackie’s masterful Betsy Ross skills will always remind me that I have some of the best girlfriends in the world. All right, one dangerous and wild and impulsive girlfriend in particular, but a best friend just the same.
I close the creaking front door and spin the lock around. I take in a deep breath of fresh and chilly winter air, looking up at the overcast sky. Who on earth knows what the new year will bring?
I pull on a pair of gloves and fasten the top button of my crimson wool coat. Whatever it’ll bring, I’m ready for it.
I push the bulk of my bag behind me, and begin my short trek to the bus stop, on my way to the first day back after the holidays at The Cup and the Cake.
Chapter Thirty-One
“You still reading that thing?” Sophie asks, gesturing to Save Me the Waltz, which I tossed onto the table underneath the chalkboard when I came in this morning.
“Nearly finished,” I say, stirring the chocolate and raspberry mousse.
“When’s that meeting, anyway?” Sophie takes a sample taste of the mousse. “Needs a touch more raspberry.”
“Next week,” I say, stirring in a few more drops of raspberry liqueur. “Thursday. Oh!” That reminds me… I snap my head up and look over at Gatz. He’s making a racket at one of the low cupboards filled with pots and pans.
Sophie dips another small spoon in the mousse and tastes once more. “Perfect. That’ll do it.” She pats me on the back and makes her way to the front. “Give yourself a break when you’re done with those!” she calls out just as she leaves.
“Gatz,” I say. I take a quick taste of the mousse for myself. Oh, that’s good! That’s a really good batch.
“What’s up?” he asks, the racket still sounding.
I wait for him to retrieve the desired pans and stop rattling about before I ask the question on my mind.
“Hey-a!” Chad says loudly, strutting into the kitchen.
“Hey, man!” Gatz says, exchanging a brotherly handshake after he sets two large bowls on the island table. “Happy New Year.”
“You, too.” Chad spins around and gives me a friendly wave.
“Happy New Year,” I say to him.
“First day back in the new year,” Chad declares. He claps his hands and rubs them together. “The slave-driver told me I’m in charge of taking the cupcakes out of the oven.” He looks around the room, his eyes settling back on mine. “Em? They ready?”
“Almost.” I nod in the direction of the ovens. “Timer’s set; it’ll probably be another two minutes or so.”
He takes a peek through the glass oven doors, a faint golden glow pouring forth, and Gatz begins to line an assortment of ingredients about the table where I’m stationed.
“So a new year,” Chad says, loudly clapping his hands and rubbing them together again. He pries open one of
the oven doors and peeks about.
“Chad!” Sophie’s penetrating voice sounds from the entryway. “Apron. Wash your hands. And, for the love of God, when’s the last time you washed your hair? Or cut it?”
“Raowwwr,” I say. “Down kitty.”
“Raowwwr is right,” Chad says, immediately shutting the oven door.
“Oh, come on,” Sophie grouses. “This is a café for goodness’ sake. The minimal amount of proper hygiene is all I ask.” She tosses Chad an apron, and he mutters to himself as he slips it on.
“You know, Sophie,” he says as he ties back the apron, “Technically I’m still on vaca with my firm—my normal job. Doin’ you a favor, babe.”
“Thank you,” Sophie says soberly. “I appreciate it.” She picks up two pink takeaway boxes. “When you’re done with the cupcakes, I need your help up front, please.” She’s nearly out of the room when she turns back around and says, “And don’t call me babe.”
Chad puffs out a large, long breath and washes his hands as Sophie leaves in a flurry.
“So!” Chad says loudly. “New Year’s resolutions, anyone? Life-altering changes? Big plans? Removing sticks out of asses?”
“Ohhh,” Gatz groans.
“Now, boys,” I say, continuing to spoon the berry mousse as Gatz begins to add a dash of this, a dash of that, a spoon and a cup of various ingredients, to his two large bowls.
“Come on. No New Year’s resolutions? Promises to keep? Goals to meet?” Chad walks over, surveying us with a goofy grin.
“Secrets to tell?” I say in a jesting and provoking way.
Chad’s expression turns vacant, and I do my best to cover. “Secret recipes you’re keeping from us, Gatz?”
“Huh?” Gatz asks, looking addled.
“What are you making there?” I motion to Gatz’s display of ingredients, simultaneously looking at Chad, who is wearing a face that says, You promised! In return I press my lips firmly together and pull a taut face and neck. “Sorry,” I silently mouth to him. I couldn’t help myself.
When Girlfriends Take Chances Page 27
