We don’t end up ordering everything on the menu, but we do order street tacos and sit at a picnic table. The tacos are savory with just the right amount of spice and fresh veggies loaded on top. I’m glad I ordered three.
“So, what do you like to do back in New York City?” Summer asks around a mouthful of food. “See a Broadway show? Visit the Statue of Liberty? Stand in the middle of Times Square?”
I like that she’s a messy eater. It makes me feel less awkward about my own eating in front of my new friend.
“Hardly. I’m not a tourist.” I say with a snort and then sip my soda. “I basically just work.”
She arches a brow. “Sounds boring.”
“I mean, I don’t think it is,” I say honestly. “I’m a VP at my family’s company. It’s a private investment and asset management firm. We help people manage their portfolios. In simple terms, we help people stay rich.”
She leans in and whispers, “Are you rich?”
I laugh. “Sorta. I have money in investments. But not like a ton of money in the bank. I guess I do okay, though.”
I don’t know how to explain my strange world to people sometimes. I grew up with my mom’s side of the family who was very wealthy. But my dad was not wealthy when he met my mom. Which is sometimes something I think about. They are pushing me to save the company, but at what cost? Money isn’t everything. I’ve made enough to honestly retire somewhere and live a very simple life. But I love the company. I love helping people. And I love watching it grow and thrive. I don’t want to stop. And if we lose it because of me...I don’t know how I’ll ever forgive myself.
Thankfully, we switch topics and she tells me funny stories about her yoga students. By the time we finish our food, I’m relaxed and truly glad I worked up the nerve to ask her to hang out with me.
“We totally need to do this again,” Summer says when we wrap up our day. “I had a lot of fun.”
“Me too,” I agree and then give her the world’s most awkward hug. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“Give me your number and I’ll text you.” She holds up her phone ready for my digits. I blurt out my number and then she grins. “There. I texted you.”
After I get back to Birdie’s, I’ll need to turn my phone back on to check it. Not just for Summer’s texts. I’ve been ignoring everyone, except Wilby, of course, and my dad’s texts and emails. I’m technically on vacation, but when you’re the VP, vacation is just a different work location with worse Wi-Fi. One thing I’ve always done to try to prove myself is work non-stop like my dad. And I hate it. I wish I had more of a life than just working.
Like shopping dates with a friend.
Even while being on vacation, something is buzzing inside of me. I have so much energy and am restless. I take a deep breath. Which is wild because for the first time in a long time, I don’t feel suffocated.I’m just...here. And I’m starting to think that here isn’t such a bad place. Ilikeit here.
I jab at the soil with my trowel. “I don’t know why this plant isn’t doing so well, Birdie. I’ve been trying to get it healthy like you showed me.”
Birdie squints at the plant and sways a little, since she’s on her third glass of sangria that she and the Bees have been drinking. “Sugar, it’s not your fault. That plant should’ve tried harder.”
The Bees lose it and laugh.
“Lordy, you’re a hoot, Birdie,” January calls from her chair, her own glass of sangria almost gone.
Birdie ignores their laughter and hands me another plant that I’m repotting as if I’m performing a sacred duty. “Here. These need encouragement. And probably gossip.”
The Bees have a more active social life than anyone I know. They’re partying with Birdie’s homemade sangria and listening to music, gossiping, and making each other cackle with laughter. When I’m old and retired, I want this life, I’ve decided.
They are clustered around the wicker patio table, the massive pitcher of sangria almost gone. I’ve declined their offerings because someone has to stay sober around here. Birdie stops and tops off everyone’s glasses.
January, Gale, Bitsy, and Lucille are a hoot. And they encourage Birdie in the best possible way. Sometimes in questionable ways. They’re hilarious.
Gale looks at me and says, “So, tell us about your ex-fiancé. What should we do to terrorize him, ladies?”
A chorus of groans arise at the mention of him. Birdie must’ve spilled all the dirty details about her dislike for him.
I roll my eyes and grin. “You don’t need to do anything. Tyler’s hellbent on destroying his life himself, I can promise you that.”
“Tyler,” Lucille bites out as if it’s a sour taste in her mouth. “He sounds like a turd.”
“He is,” Birdie chirps.
Bitsy leans forward. “Can I see a picture of the offender?”
