Rolling my eyes, I remember meeting them earlier. “Kind of. Some ooze whore more than others. They’re also good at trying not to ooze whore, so it could be an act. I think you have to get to know them first, and you can gauge for yourself.” Jenny is a beautiful woman, but like me, she’s been single for a long time. The difference is, she’ll go on a date every once in a while. The dates never escalate into anything else, and then she begins back at square one. She calls it harmless hunting.
“Mom.” Kendall pops her head into the room. “Can we go down to the beach? Sandy Beach,” she says, clarifying. It’s right down the path, past the docks a bit. It’s small, but sometimes there are parties there.
“It’s late, honey. Why didn’t you go earlier?” I ask.
Juliet pops her head in. “Come on, Mom. Just a quick bike ride, and we’ll be back before eleven.”
“What’s down there?” I ask.
Jenny clears her throat. “Who is down there?”
“A few of the girls on the cheer squad,” Juliet explains. “They’re just hanging out.”
“Hanging out is code for underage drinking and boys,” I interrupt. Jenny punches a fist in the air in agreement. “I’ll keep the tracker on your phone if I agree,” I say.
“That’s fine. Keep the tracker on. That’s where we’re going. I wouldn’t lie to you, Mom. No boys or alcohol. I promise.”
In an effort to give her a tiny bit of freedom, I make my decision. I glance at Jenny and can tell she’s arrived at the same decision I have.
“Be back in an hour. Make sure the batteries on your bike lights are fully charged.”
“Yes,” Kendall squeals loudly, clapping her hands. “A nighttime bike ride is going to be so fun!” Kendall runs over and kisses my cheek as Juliet hugs her mom and they bound out the back door.
“It’s safe, right?” Jenny asks.
“It’s less than half a mile,” I counter. “They’re going to be in college all on their own before we know it.”
“It’s late,” she says.
I shrug. “They are teens. This is teen stuff.” I pull my phone out of my purse hanging over the chair next to me and pull up the family tracking app. “We’ll watch them ride there and back.”
“And while they are there?” Jenny says.
“We trust them to use decent judgment,” I reply. I don’t say good judgment, I say decent. Good comes later, when you’ve been burned a few times and can rationalize. Decent won’t get you pregnant. My stomach sours at the thought.
“Maybe Kendall will use the same judgment as her mom,” Jenny quips as if reading my mind.
“Ha. Ha. You’re an awful friend,” I say, rising from my chair, cell in hand. “Want to help me make a board? You cut the cheese, I’ll find crackers.” Jenny agrees, her excitement for food paired with her wine, effervescent. We chat about mundane things while we eat, both of us watching the Kendall dot arrive at the beach.
“Technology really is a beautiful thing,” Jenny says, stuffing her face with a cracker. “What did we do without it?”
I can’t remember. It’s been that long, and that’s embarrassing given what I do for a living. I offer a weak joke about being old and continue my cell phone stare down. Trust. I need to trust her. If I give her trust, she’ll return it and maybe I can be honest about Aidan and my feelings for him. Or maybe I wait a few more months to see how things unfold, and ifthings blossom like I’m positive they will, then I’ll tackle that conversation. I’m giving myself easy outs. It’s disconcerting.
Jenny’s brutal question brings me to the present. “Did you call Paul about the wedding yet?”
I exhale deeply. “I should do it now,” I reply. “I didn’t want to be wrapped up in my own emotions when I called. That’s not fair. It’s hard being diplomatic when I want to call and scream at him like a rabid bear.” I focus on my breathing.
“Call him now. I want to hear,” Jenny says, eyes widening.
“You are such a gossipmonger. You know you can’t tell anyone, right? This is my business, and I don’t want Bronze Bay talking about my life.”
“That’s offensive. You’re my best friend. It won’t leave the room.”
I set a hand on her shoulder. “My best friend who likes gossip. Give me your phone,” I say, holding out my hand. “Watch the Kendall and Juliet dot while I call Paul.”
She claps giddily and hands over her phone. I don’t need a reference to remember Paul’s cell phone number. He hasn’t changed it, and right now I wish he had—wish I had to look it up instead of recalling it by memory. Swallowing hard, I hit call and wait. He answers on the first ring, with an uneasy, questioning tone.
“Hey Paul, it’s me,” I reply.
