“It hasn’t been like this for me before. Is this normal? Was I having bad…” My voice trails off.
“You’ve had sex twelve times in one week but can’t say it out loud?” Lane pokes at my knee, and I stick my tongue out at her. “But no. No guy has ever made me come twelve times in a row. You have a superhuman on your hands and should probably get a ring on that man’s finger as soon as possible.” She pours wine into her glass as Emily nods in agreement.
“Well, Warren has made at least one reference to marriage every day since our date,”Not that I’m keeping track or anything,“so I’ll keep you posted,” I say with a wink.
“Dibs on maid of honour.” Emily raises a hand, beating Lane to it. I roll my eyes but smile.
“When do you ladies go back to work?” I change the subject.
“Two more days for me,” Emily answers.
“I started back yesterday,” Lane says. “I’m looking for something closer by. I like freelancing, but I need people to interact with. I’m driving Em insane.” Emily’s eyes widen, and she nods, laughing silently.
“There’s a local tech company that paid me to do their business cards. They were hiring in-house, but I needed to stay unattached. I can send you their info,” I offer.
“Mmm!” Lane says, mouth half-filled with Brie and cracker. “Please do,” she mumbles, crumbs spewing. Emily hands her a napkin, shaking her head affectionately. We all nibble at the cheeseboard until Lane speaks again. “How have the visits with Connie been going?”
“Pretty good. She seems to be doing well. I like seeing Willow with her, but—a part of me feels sad when we’re there. Right now, Willow has no idea who she’s with, but still, I can’t help but think about when she’s older. Whether she’ll hate having to go, or hate me for keeping her if my mom stays sober.”
Both women nod thoughtfully, and Emily lowers her glass to the table before she speaks. “I think the fact that you’re already worrying about the decisions you’re making for Willow down the line means you’re probably making the right ones. Or at least the best ones you can. Her life will never be entirely normal—but she’ll be loved. By you, by your mom, us, hopefully Warren and Luke. No one with all that love around her could have hate in her heart, especially not for her big sister.”
The room stills as Emily leans back in her seat, her soft eyes gently holding contact with mine. My heart swells at her words, and I try to form a response, but Lane speaks first.
“Damn… what she said.”
I laugh weakly as I wipe a warm tear off my face.
“Thanks, Em,” I say as Lane places a hand over my shoulder and brings me into a half hug.
“You’re doing a great job, Chlo,” Lane says with uncharacteristic sincerity. I pat her knee in thanks, and she takes my silent cue to change to a lighter topic. “Let’s talk about something else—like why Emily got the bigger closet.”
Emily huffs as she reaches for the goat cheese. “Okay, well, when you decide to stop dressing likeMy Chemical Romancelet me know, and we can start sharing clothes. Until then, I have the burden of being fashionable for the entire household. Therefore, the bigger closet is mine.”
“You know, I will never understand how your clothes can be so expensive but be ripped and cut in so many weird places. When did peek-a-boo waists become a thing?” Lane asks playfully.
“You want to talk about rips? Do you own a pair of pants without them?” I blurt at Lane. Both of my friends turn to me, wide-eyed and smiling.
“Ladies and gentlemen… Chloe has entered the ring!” Emily laughs as Lane makes ading-dingnoise. I cover my mouth with my palm.
I’ve never been one to join in their bickering before, always afraid to overstep or offend. They’ve always been a lot closer, and I’ve taken my place as third runner-up in our small group. Perhaps it’s the battle training with Warren these past four months, or merely the confidence I’ve seemed to develop—but I guess I’m ready to join in.
“I knew you had it in you, bi-atch.” Lane raises a glass to mine. “And yes, I have two pairs without rips… my mother bought them for me.”
Emily raises off her chair. “You know what this night needs, ladies?” We both shake our heads with creased brows. “Music!”
She pulls out her phone and clicks a button. In typical Emily fashion, things seem to happen around her like we’re in a movie. A speaker begins playing “That’s Not My Name” by The Ting Tings—the song we declared as our household anthem in our first few months of living together.
We dance while sporadically diving down for cheese and wine for at least an hour before the two bottles are empty and our stomachs are beyond full. After a final lip-sync battle to “And I’m Telling You” between Lane and Emily, Lane begins to tidy up—the bitter loser.
“Behold, the beauty of a dishwasher, ladies,” she says, taking my plate from me.
“I should get going—my cab is almost here.” I uncurl myself from the couch and regrettably shed the throw blanket.
“Ooh!” Lane brings me into a hug—tipsy Lane is admittedly much more affectionate.“Thank you for coming, Chlo! Love you…”
“Love you too, Lane.” I kiss the side of her head as Emily steps beside us. “Love you, Em.” I bring her into a hug.
“Mmm. Have fun with lucky number thirteen tonight!” Emily snickers over the top of my head as I pull away.
