A beautiful young hostess in heels and a tiny, tight black mini-dress smiled at her. “Welcome to Ambrosia’s. I’m afraid it’s at least an hour wait for a table.”
Jessica gave her a nod, feeling the eyes of every person in the crowded foyer on her. They were probably all laying bets on whether she’d turn around and leave or stick it out with them. Neither. “I think my friends are here already.”
The hostess smiled. “Would you like to look around?”
“Yes,” Jess told her, craning her neck. She spotted the back of Rachael’s head, her long red hair making her stand out against the brunettes, blondes, and grays of the world. Dammit, Diana’s mouth was hanging open in shock. Shehadmissed something big.
She weaved her way through the tables until she finally reached her friends. “Hello, ladies,” Jess said, peeling her wool coat off and hanging it on the hook on the side of the booth. “Sorry I’m late. I had to park at Trader Joe’s.”
Rachael stood up to give her a hug. Rachael was a hugger. She also smelled like cookie dough, and Jess had occasionally wondered if that scent was why Rachael’s husband, Ted, had left her last year. Cookie dough was one of those things that could only be handled in small doses. Too much and you start to feel nauseated. She had pictured Rachael giving him a hug when he got home from work, and him deciding that that was it. He just couldn’t stand the smell for another second.
That’s not what had happened, of course. He had ‘accidentally’ fallen for his massage therapist and left Rachael when he found out he’d gotten her pregnant. But Jess would always wonder if the cookie dough had perhaps led to the affair in the first place. Not that it was Rachael’s fault in any way, shape, or form.
“How are you?” Jess asked in the sympathetic (but also bordering on condescending) way she had done since Ted left. It was one of the things Jess hated about herself the most—her propensity for being condescending, even though she never meant to be.
“Never better,” Rachael answered, letting her go and sliding into the booth.
Diana scooted over for Jess to sit next to her. As best friends, it was understood that they’d sit beside each other and focus on Rach, already knowing every detail of what was happening in each other’s lives. Besides, since the divorce, Rachael’s life was infinitely more interesting than their own. Swiping right and left, hooking up with men when her ex had the kids, and navigating the choppy waters of co-parenting three children with a juvenile step-mom thrown into the mix.
Diana glanced at Jess and tucked a lock of her straight black hair behind her ear. “You won’t believe what Rach was just telling me.”
“What?” Jess asked, grinning even though inside she was still kicking herself for not being early for once.
Rachael, an expert in the art of the dramatic pause, had a sip of her bellini before answering.Ooh, a bellini!That appealed to Jess. Screw the headache she’d have in a few hours. She was ordering that.
“Ted proposed to Yoga Pants,” Rachael told her.
Jessica’s mouth dropped. “But your divorce isn’t even final.”
“I know. Gross, right?” Rachael answered.
“I’dhateit if a married man proposed to me,” Jessica said.
“But you’d also never let yourself get knocked up by one,” Rachael said.
“Good point.”
“And get this,” Diana said, grabbing Jessica’s forearm. “She said no.”
Jessica gasped. “She said no?!”
Rachael nodded triumphantly. “Yup. Kylie told me when the kids got home last Sunday night. Ted’s devastated. Apparently, he had this whole big romantic weekend planned for them. They left the baby with her mom—”
“Her mom who must be, what? Ten years older than us?” Jess shook her head in disgust.
“Four.”
“What?!”
“She just turned fifty. I know because Ted and Yoga Pants had a big party for her at their place.”
“But Ted hates parties.”
“That was old Ted. Ted 2.0 is a social butterfly.”
“Oh my God, what a total douche canoe,” Jess said.
The server arrived at the table, dressed in heels that gave Jessica’s feet sympathy pains. She introduced herself as Destiny, and Jess could tell by the look in her eyes when she asked if she could get her a drink that Destiny was one-hundred-percent sure Jess was both high-maintenance and a bad-tipper. (Neither of which was true, although Jess found it scandalous that the new ‘average’ tip was twenty percent. She paid it, but she hated like hell to do it.)
