But…
I know my father when he drinks. He would, and he has. With a multitude of women.
But what the fuck would that have to do with Logan and Gigi? Just a random coincidence?
I’m not sure I believe in random.
But I’m also completely stumped.
I need a distraction desperately, so I decide to work on my query letter. I’ll probably need to revise this one anyway after the rejections start coming in, but I need to do something right this second. I finish a decent draft and email it off to a few literary agents I find online.
Sunrise is still a little ways off as Ginny and I sit at my kitchen table, the plate of buttermilk biscuits between us.
“I seriously think I gained a few pounds just waiting for you to get here,” I say as I finish my third biscuit.
“I gained three pounds this week,” she offers.
“You’re eating for two. You should be gaining weight.”
She grabs a biscuit and chews. Then, she says, “Their private Florida wedding is scheduled for five o’clock tomorrow evening. Typical Logan to call and not say one word about that part of his trip.”
True.
I make a face. “The fact that I’m going to be here while reporters are stationed in front of The Cowherd jail cell to check whether or not Logan and Gigi are the soul mates…”
Ginny grimaces. “It sounds torturous, honestly.”
I sigh. “I know. Subject change—is anything new with you?”
Ginny smiles. “Nickel wants to date me.”
I hug her. “I would say I’m surprised, but you so clearly had him wrapped around your finger from the get-go.”
“And Mama’s just started to speak to me again in a normal voice,” she says. “I guess a week’s not bad considering how much pain she says I put her through.”
“Yeah, for your mother, a week’s pretty impressive.”
“Do you think maybe we’re afraid to be different than our mamas?” Ginny says.
I look over at her. “You think?”
She shrugs. “Maybe. I mean, they’re from a completely different generation, and they had totally different childhoods, yet…” she pauses. “And yet they both always say how much we’re like them. I don’t think I would’ve married Dave if I’d known how wrong they were.”
And maybe I wouldn’t have fought so hard to never let a man in.
“I spent this whole summer poring over my old diary entries, trying to make peace with my childhood,” I murmur.
“And what’d you find?” she asks me.
“I’m just realizing what I found. Nearly every entry had Logan all over it. My first kiss, my first everything.”
“It’s so romantic,” Ginny squeals. “Like a real love story written in your own hand!”
I swallow hard. “I read it from front to back, and all of it was there. And I couldn’t see it until he was already gone.”
After Ginny leaves, I paint my toenails, wash and dry my hair, and spend nearly forty-five minutes painstakingly separating and then pulling my entire head of unruly waves into a French braid. I admire my work in the bathroom mirror and then order in a double cheeseburger, onion rings, and a vanilla milkshake for lunch. After I eat, I half-heartedly pack, knowing that after tomorrow, I won’t have the heart to do much else besides try to get my ass to the airport on time.
I wish I could skip Logan’s wedding. God, I wish I could skip it. But I feel like that would be too mean. I call Ben and ask him to cover for me at The Cowherd tonight. When he asks why, I tell him I’m not feeling well.
