“Mmm, I forgot how criminally good this lemonade is.” She slurps some up through her straw. “Want some?”
I shake my head.
“Positive? Because I’m picking up some very melancholy energy from your little booth over here.”
“Contemplative energy, that’s all. Today was a lot.”
“Yeah.” She nudges me with her shoulder. “You pulled through, though. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you for being here.” I lean against her, overwhelmed and grateful for all her support. “You and Bob.”
“Always and forever, babes. I know I’m no Dawn or anything, but I’ll help however I can.”
I pick my head straight up and gawk at her. “What are you talking about?”
“She’s…she’s a really good person, and a good friend to you.”
“Sure, but what does that—”
“She helped you with that speech. She didn’t act like an annoying big sister when you talked about sleeping with Max. She’s not pregnant, so she could do more than just refill people’s water today. I see why you like her.”
“I like when you act like my big sister. And I like you pregnant.” I can’t believe I even have to say this. “I like yousomuch. More than like. I love you, you idiot.”
“I love you, too.” Her bottom lip pops out, and her eyes turn glassy. “I don’t want you to not be in my life when the baby is born.”
“Did Stacey give you some of her stash or something?”
“Babies change things.”
“Sure,” I say, my heart hurting that my best friend has been holding onto this fear. “You’re gonna have mommy friends, and me and Dawn will become closer, but nothing could ever get in the way of you and me. I promise.”
She smiles and loops her hand into mine. “Me too.”
Everything around us buzzes with energy, and I admire how many people came out to help. My heart might explode. If I could, I’d buy them all a hundred pitchers of beer and a hundred pizzas. More, even. But guilt clouds my vision.
“I can’t wrap my head around all these folks giving up their day for me,” I say, hoping my friend doesn’t think less of me for putting the needs of The Mirage first. “Everybody here, you included, has businesses and homes, too.”
“I ask for your help all the time.” She lets out a rueful laugh and lists out all the times I’ve stepped in at her shop or helped with special events. I didn’t complete these tasks with an expectation of something in return, and I certainly never looked down on Gwen for asking. If she needed something, I would make it happen.
“We love you,” she goes on. “The whole town loves you. If you need help, we’re there. Me, especially. At least somebody gets it.”
She nods to Max, who’s now sitting at a nearby table talking to Bob and Dawn. One of them must have made an incredible joke, because he’s laughing, his wide smile like the sunrise on a clear day. It’s my favorite smile.
“I thought you were anti-Max,” I say.
“Not anti-Max—just pro-you. And him being back seems good for you. You’ve been happy, and that’s all I ever wanted for you. You deserve it. Or, who knows, maybe you’re just in a good-mood sex bubble because of getting laid regularly.”
I shoot lighthearted daggers at her with my eyes.
She hooks her elbow on the backrest, positioning her body toward mine so no one can overhear our conversation. “If you had asked me what kind of partner I wanted when I was single, I would have told you to give me some chakra-aligned, vegan-eating, yoga-loving California blond boy. And then I met Bob. He can’t touch his toes, his favorite food is mozzarella sticks fromSonic, and he has a buzz cut. He’s allergic to nature, and he has a spreadsheet for everything. Seriously,everything.”
“Even—”
“Yes, even that. And when we started dating, you could have pointed to all of those things and told me he’s not a good match. Half the time,Iwas telling myself that.”
I think back to their early days together. When I pictured my best friend with someone, it wasn’t someone like Bob. “But,” I say, cutting off my own thoughts, “he makes you happy.”
“The happiest. And I can’t fully comprehend how he’s the one, but you have never, ever questioned my sanity. You trusted me. Supported me. So I wanna do the same.” Her eyes shimmer with tears, so she looks to the ceiling and fans them. “Hormones.” She composes herself and clasps my hands in hers. “Seeing you in shambles after Dublin destroyed me, but I will always help you pick up the pieces when something—anything—goes wrong. So I can either give you a hard time or accept that you know what you want. Just be careful,” she says, part request, part warning. “Did you tell him you were there?”
