Samiah did her best to hold it together, but after a few seconds she burst out laughing. “I’m sorry,” she said. “That’s just so…you.”
“Yes, it is so me,” Taylor said.
Samiah frowned at Taylor’s toneless response.
“Hey.” She reached over and gave her a playful tap on the arm. “I was just joking.”
“I know.” Taylor smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes.
Samiah looked over at London, who held both palms up and hunched her shoulders in confusion.
They’d made plans to meet up at her place before going out for sushi at the place that started it all two months ago. But because Austin was once again in the throes of a raging thunderstorm—seriously, this was more rain than they usually saw the entire fall season—no one wanted to leave the condo. Instead, Samiah took out a lasagna Denise had sent over a few days ago and slipped it in the oven. Now that her sister was nearing the end of her pregnancy, she was in full nesting mode. According to Bradley, their freezer was filled with enough casseroles to feed them for the next six months.
Samiah was more than happy to take a few of those meals off their hands. Sharing a home-cooked meal with London and Taylor beat going out to a restaurant. Samiah had discovered that, when it came to these two, the place wasn’t important; it was the company. She’d found something she hadn’t known she’d been missing in her life: true girlfriends.
Earlier, when she told them about the position she’d been offered at Trendsetters, Taylor and London both helped her see that no matter how fulfilling heading up the new Outreach Department might be, giving up on the dreams she had for her app would leave her dissatisfied in the end. She had reached that conclusion days ago, but hearing it from these two—women whogother, who understood her—reaffirmed what she already knew to be the only possible choice for her.
Over the course of these last couple of months, the boyfriend project had morphed into something more powerful than any of them had expected. This undertaking moved far beyond getting themselves in a position to find significant others. This was about finding their life’s truth.
As she sat here, enjoying good wine and even better company, Samiah recognized that she was solidly on that path.
She looked over to Taylor to find her downing the remaining wine in her glass with one huge gulp, then reaching for the wine bottle.
“Whoa there,” Samiah said, plucking the bottle from her hand. “You want to take it easy? Keep that up and you’ll be passed out drunk before we slice into the lasagna.”
“Good. I’m trying to get drunk,” she said.
“No shit. You look like you’re halfway there already.” Samiah poured San Pellegrino into a glass and switched Taylor’s wine stem with the mineral water. “You need to drink some of this before you have more wine,” she said. “Now, do you mind sharing why our resident health nut is trying to get drunk?”
Taylor shook her head.
“Nope, you don’t get to say no,” London said. She perched on the arm of the sofa. “These Friday night get-togethers are supposed to be about having a safe space to air our grievances. From what I’ve seen tonight, you sure as shit have some grievances you need to air out. Let us hear it.”
“Please.” Taylor covered her face with both hands and released a groan. “I honestly don’t want to talk about it. It’s just family crap that I’ve been dealing with my whole life. I’m over it.”
“Over it as in you want to drink yourself into a stupor and then punch the wall, or over it as in we should remove all sharp objects and pills from your apartment before allowing you to be there by yourself tonight?” London asked.
Taylor rolled her eyes. “I’m not suicidal.”
“I’m just trying to figure out what we’re dealing with here,” London said.
“It’s the same damn story—no, make that the same damnnightmare. My life is a fucking nightmare!”
Samiah’s head snapped back at the sheer vehemence in Taylor’s agonized outburst. Where was this even coming from? The person sitting before her hardly resembled the happy-go-lucky woman she’d come to know over these past two months.
“Honey, what’s going on?” she asked, concern tightening her chest.
“I’m sorry,” Taylor said somewhat sheepishly. “That may have been a tiny bit dramatic. It’s not as serious as you’re probably thinking.”
London bounded up from the arm of the sofa, her hands flailing. “Are you for real right now? I was going through the steps for an intervention in my head.”
“I’msorry,” she stressed. “It’s just…I come from a family of overachievers,” she said. “And I’m tired of being the one who’s always asked when I’m going to get my shit together.”
“You’re only twenty-eight years old,” London pointed out. “You’re not expected to have your shit together until you’re at least thirty.”
“Well, hell, I guess I need to play catchup.” Samiah laughed.
Taylor didn’t. She turned to London. “How old were you when you finished medical school? Hmm?” She prompted when London remained quiet. “Bet you were younger than twenty-eight.”
