I spike a brow. “Really?”
“Yeah, it’s actually because of you. You totally got me laid by men that would come around asking about you after you made it big, figuring I’d somehow be able to hook you guys up or something.”
“Oh, gosh—that’s gross.”
“Yeah, the sex wasn’t always bad, though.”
“So…how was it with Brett? He broke up with me because I wouldn’t kiss him. I guess I thought the first kiss should be magical, like in a Disney movie.”
“Facesitting has never been so exhausting before.”
I blink, trying to process what my childhood friend had just said. “Excuse me? Did you-did you just say—”
“Jeez, are you seriously going to go all prude on me now?”
“Well-I mean-it’s just—”
“Look, I haven’t ratted out your secrets in the ten years you’ve been gone—and I have plenty. I’m not gonna start now, so don’t act all uptight on me.”
Irene’s smirk is completely foreign to me. Back when we were girls, she wasn’t necessarily shy, but she was very reserved, choosy with her friends and private. Now, she’s almost crass, with a strong hint of cynicism.
“So, um, Brett ruined facesitting for you. How…um, tragic, I guess.”
“He was just so obnoxious about it. We’d be having this romantic night, which ironically would include Dunkin’ Donuts. He’d take me to a field and lay a blanket out, we’d be lying down, gazing up at the stars, making out, then, he’d be like,“Why don’t you come up here and ride my face, baby!”It was exhausting.”
The revelation is so startling, I spit out my water. Irene hands me a napkin, and I dab my face, then blot the table.
“I-I never got to know that side of Brett.”
“He was this 6’4 blond Viking God that wanted to feel dominated by tiny five-foot-two me, or at least he was. I saw him a couple weeks ago, and he was balding with a gut.”
I guess it’s time for me to join in. “I, too, have facesitted in the time since we last hung out, though quite sporadically.”
“Honestly, all those boys I see you with in the tabloids look way too pretty for that. But then again, they look like they use great moisturizer, so maybe that’s the trick.”
I snort from laughter, deciding this is a much better greeting than my family reunion.
“Well, I did share a stylist with some of them, so I can figure out their secrets.”
We break out into giggles, and I’m struck by how natural this is. It’s almost like we’re more intimate now than when we used to hang out every day.
“You have to tell me, Tam. Did you really sleep with that one old director?”
“Oh—God, NO! I can’t believe that rumor even started. Yes, I went to dinner with him. Multiple times. Nothing happened.”
“Okay, that’s fair.”
“Of course, people assumed more. He was really creepy, though.”
“How so?”
“He kept asking me to call him Daddy, and once, when we were in his chauffeured limo, he literally gave me a juice pouch.”
Irene’s face morphs into a look of disgust. “Oh my God—you’re kidding me!”
“Don’t act like anything I’ve said is all that profound when you’re discussing exhausting facesitting sessions with Brett Mitchel.”
After a long and heavy silence, I say, “I’ve missed you.”
