“You know, I’m really starting to enjoy this whole yoga thing,” Electra says as we head from the studio towards Juiced, a local smoothie bar right across the street, rolled up yoga mats in tow.
“Really?” I ask. “Which poses are you enjoying?”
“The poses? God no, I hate them all. Especially the downward dog? Ugh. And that one where we lay with our butts against the wall, feet up and knees apart? Like, what is that even good for?” she asks as we get in line to order.
“It’s prenatal yoga,” I tell her. “It’s a hip opening pose for women who are stretching to give birth.”
“Right. I keep forgetting you’re pregnant,” she grumbles before we walk up to the counter.
The juice bar girl’s eyes run skeptically over my belly, as if to say,How could you forget, she’s huge?
To which I offer a smile before ordering the Citrus Celebration. Electra orders the Berry Blast and makes a joke that they should offer a vodka spiked version of it.
The girl isn’t amused.
“I’m just happy to be able to see you again,” I say as we walk over to a picnic area and sit down in front of a fountain.
“Me too. No offense, but the time you were in Idaho or wherever the fuck you were was excruciating.”
I can hear the emotion in her voice, which sparks tears in the back of my own eyes. Damn these pregnancy hormones, I swear to God.
“I felt it too. Believe me. As much as it was good to get away from everything that happened…” I trail off. “I missed home so much. I missed us.”
“I did too,” she says. “You know, I don’t think you ever really told me. What exactly happened before you left, other than Gianni running with some bad people and Ransome and you having some turbulence?”
I swallow a sip of my smoothie, doing my best to pretend carrots and tangerines sprinkled with cinnamon and turmeric and blended to the consistency of cold baby food actually sounds better than a chocolate malt right now.
And now I’ve said that, any more of this orange monstrosity is going to make me gag. Again, pregnancy is great.
“That’s about the extent of it,” I tell her, because I can’t tell her more. Because I have to lie to everyone I love. To protect them.
“Okay, but like…” she starts, but I cut her off.
“I want to know more about your boyfriend. Sean. For real, when do I get to meet him? You’ve literally never shown me a photo. Doesn’t he have social media?”
Electra shakes her head. “No. He’s kind of a ghost in that way. I don’t know why. He’s really hot. I guess he just likes to keep to himself. But I don’t mind. He’s always sending me things,” she says with a sparkling smile.
“Sending you things?” I echo, and her smile broadens.
Electra makes a show of pulling a thin silver chain out from under her shirt. On the end is a diamond that sparkles with all the confidence and show of a Tiffany. “Yes. Gifts. Little things, you know?”
I laugh and shake my head. “Little things? Girl.” I pause to take sunglasses from my bag and slip them on, and Electra laughs. “It’s blinding. Jesus. How much money does he make?”
“A lot,” she says.
“What does he do?”
She shrugs. “I don’t really know. He doesn’t like to talk about it.”
I study here and she doesn’t make eye contact. Like she’s racking her brain trying to think of things about him that she knows so she can share them with me. Her eyes light up and she points at me, swallowing a sip of smoothie. “Oh! He likes cars. Loves cars. Fancy ones if I had to guess. I’m pretty sure he has a Lambo.”
“Damn.” I nod. “So he really does have deep pockets.”
“Yep. And it’s not the only impressive thing he’s got.”
“Oh, so the bedroom is good?” I jiggle my eyebrows.
She bites her lip and nods. “Definitely. I mean, he works a lot, but when he does come around it’s pretty good.”
