“Probably,” Jean agreed. She slid Libby a sidelong glance. “Do you need a snack?”
“We don’t have anything.”
“Poor Rocheo.”
“I know.” Libby rubbed her chest like she had indigestion, but this was not a feeling Rolaids could cure.
“Do you want me to leave you alone?” Jean asked, in her trying-to-be-sensitive voice.
“Yeah, because I’m sure solitude is the perfect cure. What would help with this loneliness? Being more alone!”
“Hair of the dog,” Jean said, plopping onto the couch beside her. “You’re not alone, Libs.”
“I know.” She paused for effect. “I have Rocheo.” A sharp elbow connected with her rib cage. “You were right about some of that stuff. Like how I’m scared of putting myself out there. I try so hardnotto be something that I forget to be my own thing.” Andif Libby was serious about profiling other people, she needed to practice taking a hard look at herself.
“To be clear,” Jean said, leaning her head against Libby’s shoulder, “I’m also at least fifty percent full of shit.”
“It’s part of your charm.”
“I like to think so.”
“One thing you were wrong about.” Libby glanced at the top of Jean’s head, the smooth darkness of her hair divided by a razor-sharp part. “You are like my mom. Not my actual mom, but what I wanted her to be. Someone who wouldn’t mind if her life was totally intertwined with mine, you know? Permanently connected, even if we hit a rough patch.”
“We’re like each other’s moms.” Jean hesitated. “Don’t tell me if that’s a messed-up psychological syndrome.”
“We took the same class, Jean.”
“I know, but I skipped a lot. Hence the lower grade. Though I basically had a C-plus.”
Libby let that pass. “I don’t think there’s anything demented about accepting someone unconditionally. Flaws and all.” She squeezed Jean’s hand.
“Are you proposing?”
“You wish.”
“Okay, but will you at least post something sappy about me?And I owe it all to my best friend, who is also available for freelance art commissions.”
“Maybe.”
There was a knock at the front door. Libby’s heart skipped a beat, pierced with the irrational hope that it was Jefferson, bending the rules of time and air travel to find her. She tried not to look disappointed when Keoki walked in, carrying bags of food.
“SOS,” he said.
The fact that Keoki was delivering the message in person rather than by text sent a pulse of alarm up Libby’s spine. Givenhow low her emotional reserves were running, she hoped this was one of his menu-related crises.This garnish or that one? With the demi-glace or without?Her stomach reminded her she hadn’t eaten at work. Too busy during the event to take a break, and too blue to hang around afterward.
The smells coming from those bags were enticing enough to get Libby off the couch, at least long enough to grab plates and silverware from the kitchen. She returned to see Keoki unloading a six-pack of beer.
Jean pinched him, patient as always. “Are you going to tell us or what?”
“If it’s about planning a baby shower, I have a whole list of whatnotto do,” Libby assured him.
He cracked open a beer, taking a long swallow. “Didn’t want to do that in front of Cici.”
“Because she’s pregnant?” Libby guessed.
Keoki shook his head. “She’d ask why I was upset. And then I’d have to tell her I quit my job.”
“What the hell, K?” Jean shoved him with both hands, putting her full body weight behind it. Keoki didn’t budge.
