By the time he’s handed her drink over, we’ve caught up on one or two of the craziest stunts her kids have pulled this week, and my stomach is full-on grumbling now.
She pays for her beverage before taking a sip and groaning almost sexually. “You are a fucking magician, my friend. This isexceptional,” she tells him earnestly, and another blush coats his cheeks. I see his gaze drop to her left hand and his shoulders slump ever so slightly when he sees the ring on her finger, but the genuine smile on his face remains. Chrissy doesn’t even notice, already moving on to our next quest.
She wraps her arm through mine and we walk over to the hostess stand, ready to kick this sorely-missed tradition off.
“Reservation for two, ten AM, under Anderson,” she tells the hostess.
“Certainly, miss, right this way,” replies the stunning, trendy young woman. (Did I just age myself with that line? I probably did, but I stand by it.) She grabs two cardstock menus and leads us through the incredible space to a table along a side wall that gives us a perfect view of both the indoor and the courtyard dining spaces. I feel obliged to let my eyes wander freely every time we’re here, it’s just so freaking gorgeous everywhere I look.
Shortly after that, the server comes over and can’t help but be enamored by our antics (that’s the fourth smile so far today), and we have placed an order to start with some avocado fries while we review the seasonal specials and make our final decisions.
For as healthy as I try to be during the week, these brunches are one of the only times I make an exception and just order whatever the heck I want. Okay, maybeanytime I go out with Chrissy I go a little wild. But that’s us together. Fun, unpredictable, down for just about anything. That’s the way we’ve always been, and I wouldn’t trade that bright light she brings to my world for anything. Not even the obsessive calorie-counting I employ during the week to keep my figure under control.
Once we’ve decided on two different dishes (new ones for both of us), so that we can swap bites, and have placed our orders, we dive into the real catch-up.
“I think this is our third brunch in three months, Chrissy, I’m impressed!” I tell her jovially, and I am so glad to see her eyes dancing with amusement again.
“I told you, I’m prioritizing ourustime again, Auntie Ellie.” I think it’s adorable when she uses her kids’ name for me, and I smile in response to it, as well as at the words she’s saying. “I let my life get too out of control there, I almost got swallowed by the stress and the bullshit, and I need my time with you to keep that other shit at bay. I meant it when I said I’m not going months and months without seeing you ever again.” She shrugs, and speaks with her hands as she continues. “I wish we could do this more, but I’ve also had to put some work into prioritizing my marriage, re-strategize my game with work, and a whole bunch of other shit lately, too. Not to mention all the fun that comes with raising four tiny humans under the age of ten.”
I smile broadly at her, unrestrained in my happiness for the peace that she seems to have found. It was touch and go there for a while, I was genuinely worried about her there for a hot minute. I know it wasn’t easy. But she seems to have come through that rough patch yet again, just like she always has.
“I’m happy you’re doing so well,” I tell her earnestly. “How are things with Chance after…everything?”
“Enough about me.” She waves me off with an impatient hand. “That’s a story for another day. How’re things with David?” Those astute hazel eyes of hers narrow on me to read my response to her question.
Does she suspect something is up between us? Why is she making this sound like a significant question?
“Honestly?” I ask, willing myself to be truthful with her, with myself, but unsure of how to voice the doubts that have been plaguing me. “I think they could be better. I mean, there’s nothing particularlywrongbetween us. It’s not like we’ve had some big fight, and it’s not like I’ve had to reject another marriage proposal from him recently,thank God.” I shudder at the memory of two Christmases ago. Luckily he got my not-so-subtle hint that I wasn’t ready to commit to forever with him and he’s left that conversation alone for a while. “It’s just… kind of… I dunno, stale?” I finish weakly, feeling like I’m not doing this situation any justice by trying to describe it.
“Like, things are tired in the bedroom?” she asks.
I give a combo of a shrug and a somewhat acquiescent nod, not willing to fully commit to trashing my sex life, or his involvement in it. That seems like a dick thing to do, even if I’m not super…satisfiedwith how things are going.
“Oh, girl!” she tells me, in full understanding. I know she has empathy with me on this point, as she just went through something not too dissimilar with her own partner. “Is it a problem of insufficient frequency? Inadequate performance? Improper technique?” She looks so serious, so clinical, as she lists these things off like it’s from a freaking checklist that I don’t even feel embarrassed, and I open up to her.
“I mean, maybe it’s, like, a combo of all three?” I say honestly, trying to find the words. My eyes dart around the room for a second, making eye contact with our server who is bringing over our appetizer and I wait until we’ve both thanked her profusely and she’s gone again before I continue.
“Like, for starters, it’s pretty much only ever once a week. Like…I don’t know if he’s just not in the mood, but it seems like he doesn’t eventhinkabout it unless it’s on the weekend. I’m sure tonight will be the night he initiates it. But, like, a couple of nights ago, I tried to spice things up with him and it just…fell flat.”
“Ugh,” she says in a pained voice, empathizing with me. “I just went through something SO similar, girl. We wentweekswithout any action, which turned into months. You can’t let it get that out of hand! It almost ruined my marriage!” She grabs a wedge of panko-crusted avocado and digs in while I keep rambling.
“I’m trying not to, to be honest. I don’twantto only get down once a week, on a schedule like it’s a freaking board meeting that has to be penciled in, lest we forget it. And it’s not like we have kids and all the excuses you guys do!” She raises her brows, nods, agrees with her whole face on that point. “I mean, yeah, we both work a lot, but…it shouldn’t be that hard to fit it in, right?” My voice trails off as I figure out how to put it into words. “I want…passion. Iwantto want him at random times, and for him to just fuckingtakeme sometimes, you know? But I’m pretty sure that’s not how he operates. Calculator-brain, remember?” I joke with her. That’s what she’s called David’s number-oriented brain in the past.
He’s not creative and emotional like she and I are. In fact, he’s kind of the opposite of me in a lot of ways. I’ve always thought we balanced each other out, each of us having strengths where the other has weaknesses, but a depressingly skeptical part of me is starting to wonder if we’re more incompatible romantically despite how compatible other areas of our lives are.
If I was up for more self-reflection, I might dig into the other issues I fear are beneath the surface of our relationship, too, but one major problem is enough to dissect for today.
I take another long drag on my mimosa and sit back to listen to her drop some wisdom on me.
“Girl, you can’t wait for him to wake up and be perfect. You have to jump start your sex life!” She says that last line so fervently that her volume shoots up, and I dart a nervous glance around the tables nearest us, but luckily no one seems to be paying any attention, all lost in their over-the-top waffles and spilling the latest of their own tea with their companions.
My stomach grumbles again, and I realize I was so wrapped up in our conversation I forgot to start eating. We both reach for an avocado fry at the same time, taking turns dipping them into the sauce and each biting into them thoughtfully.
“I mean, I tried the other day. I sent him a suggestive text, and—”
Her squeal cuts me off. “You and Davidsexted?” she asks incredulously, looking proud of me. “I always hoped I’d pass my ways on to you, but damn am I one proud best friend right now.” She pretends to wipe a tear from her eye and flashes a grin at me.
I’m pretty sureI’mblushing now, and I duck my head on the next sip of my drink, letting my long, honey blonde hair fall down to hide my face for a moment before responding.
