I snort. “Bedroom eyes.”
Lauren takes another bite of dessert, then licks her fork clean. “Ethan’s still watching us. So is Tink.”
“Jen,” I remind her quietly.
“Really don’t care about getting her name right.” Lauren leans in, a sudden sinister grin on her face, and says, “What do you say I kiss the hell out of you and give them something to be jealous of?”
I smile as I lean in, too, and say, “No.”
Her grin dissolves. “Why the hell not?”
“Because I don’t want to ruin tonight by about making it about anything other than our friendship. And I don’t want to have to learn that, in addition to running, cooking, personal style, and general badassery, kissing is another thing you’re better at than me.”
Lauren narrows her eyes. “You’re so full of shit.”
“I’m not!” I tell her. “I really don’t want to make it about…him. Or her.”
“That part I believe,” she says. “But the rest of it, stop knocking yourself down, Thea.” She clasps my hand inside both of hers, then says gravely, “If you do one thing for me once I’m gone—”
“You’re notperishing, Lo. You’re relocating for work.”
“Still,” she says. “Do this for me, at least, if at first you can’t do it for yourself—bebig, Thea. Take up space. Do whatever the fuck you want, because you can, and because, once I’m out of here, there will be a significant deficit in Pittsburgh’s collective boss-ass bitch quota. But most of all, take care of yourself, so I know you’re okay. All right?”
I smile softly and tangle my hands with hers, clasping them together. “I’ll try my best. To be a big, space-taking, boss-ass bitch. And Iwilltake care of myself. I’ll be okay.”
Lauren nods, her eyes searching mine. Then she leans in againand says, “Sure you don’t want to kiss my face off and make them insanely jealous?”
“Come on, Lo. Let’s get out of here.”
“Fine,” she sighs.
I stand, purse on my shoulder, stretching out my hand to Lauren. She stands, too, and takes it, letting me lead her in a winding path out of the restaurant.
Outside, we’re welcomed by the warmth of a balmy summer night, a rare clear sky smattered with dazzling stars.
Lauren turns toward me, our hands drawing apart. The playfulness from inside has evaporated. Now it’s only the quiet night, the hum of crickets, and the steady rumble of cars and buses rolling by. The background noise for our goodbye.
“Nightcap back at my place?” I ask, my voice thick, knowing I sound a little desperate. “I’ve got a very cute postage stamp of a backyard, with string lights and a café table and chairs, thanks to this pushy friend I have who foisted them on me.”
“And strung up the lights?” she adds. “In the perfect zigzag pattern because your efforts looked like they’d been woven by a drunk spider?”
A laugh jumps out of me. I brush away the tears. “Yeah. She’s a good friend.”
Lauren dabs at her nose, peering down the road. “Your offer is tempting,” she concedes, “but I think maybe your friend needs to head back to her mostly empty condo and collect herself.”
“I get that,” I whisper. “It’s a tight fit back there, anyway. Two five-foot-eleven women in that postage stamp, feels like we’re sitting in the lawn version of a too-tight tub.”
She laughs roughly. “It’s a microscopic yard. I think my condo closet was bigger than that.”
Iknowher closet was bigger than that backyard. “Maybe a smidge.”
She snorts loudly. Then she glances toward a car rolling toward us, another one behind it, both pulling to a stop.
“Separate cars?” I ask.
She nods. “For separate ways.”
I blow out an unsteady breath, then I launch myself at her, hugging her hard. My chest aches, my eyes burn. I squeeze Lauren tight and tell her hoarsely, “It’s tight quarters, but that postage stamp will always be waiting for you. String lights. Café table and chairs. A cold bottle of white with your name on it.” I pull back and hold her eyes. “And a friend who wants to share it with you.”
