“Uh, sorry,” I say. “I’m out of it today… what were you asking?”
Kayla eyes me with a concerned expression. “What’s up with you? We were just talking about the dinner for the wedding… vegetarian options.”
“Oh… well, I always like a nice vegetable lasagna,” I offer. I’m not much of a vegetarian — I’m a meat eater, through and through. “Isn’t that your expertise, Kayla?”
The doorbell clangs loudly as Corrie finally makes her appearance. She’s a tiny, tiny woman, but larger than life. “Hey, ladies?! What’s up?!”
“Just talking about the menu for the reception,” Maeve tells her.
Corrie rolls her eyes. “Oh, enough talk about the wedding, already. It’s getting a bit old.”
Maeve pulls a face, visibly hurt. “Yeah… sure.”
Corrie settles her rear on the empty chair, completely clueless. She can be the sweetest thing, but she is pretty snarky sometimes, and she has no clue that her words can be offensive at times.
“Geez, way to rain on your friend’s parade, Corrie,” Kayla says, smiling. “You’re just jealous.” she teases.
“Totally,” Corrie admits. “Oh, to be young and in love again…”
“What?” Kayla asks. “You and Jacob are not in love anymore? You could have fooled me.”
Corrie and her husband, Jacob, are in the middle of a separation, but they still keep ending up in bed together.
“Oh, that ship sailed a long time ago,” Corrie admits.
“But you guys still have sex all the time,” I point out. I don’t know why I say this exactly, but she always talks about her sexual escapades — she’s very open that way. I, on the other hand, am pretty buttoned up when it comes to that stuff. The girls probably think John and I only do it in missionary with the lights off. Hardly ever.
“Well, Iamat my sexual prime,” she says. “I just have no control these days.”
We all smile and nod. Corrie and her husband had been trying for a while to have children, but no luck. Corrie wanted to consider the next step — fertility treatments, but Jacob decided that he didn’t want kids after all, that it was all too stressful.
Corrie goes to fetch herself a cup of coffee while we dig out our notebooks and pens out of our purses and satchels. My notebook has a reproduction of Van Gogh’s Midnight Café painting on the cover, and gold edged paper — it was a gift from John. Maeve’s is a large notebook with a kitten and polka dots, something a child might doodle in. Kayla’s journal is a hardcover, spiral bound, pink and green, with a bohemian design.
Corrie sets her cup of coffee on the small table, and pulls out her sleek red leather bound notebook — it looks expensive, but I prefer Maeve’s, which must have only cost about two dollars.
“So, who has anything to read today?!” Maeve asks. Out of the four of us, Maeve is the most serious about our journaling club. She always insists that at least one of us read. “It can’t be all chatting and goofing around,” she always says.
I clear my throat. “I… I have something.”
“Me too,” Kayla chimes in.
I smile at her. “You go first,” I suggest. Thank god, I hate being the first to read.
Kayla reads her latest entry. Her voice is so soft and soothing — it makes me want to lay down, fall asleep and dream. Her poetry and ramblings generally center on nature and the earth, and spirituality. She is in sync with the world on a primal level, unlike any of the rest of us are, unlike most of this generation. We’re all stuck to our laptops, devices, and phones. Binging on Netflix, shopping, soaking up our man-made world. How many of us take the time to enjoy the simplest basic elements of life?
Her words are beautiful. This one is about the peace and tranquility of the lake at her family cottage. Every time she writes about the cottage, it makes me eager to go there again.
When my turn comes, I’m a little nervous, as usual. I start off slow, and try to make my words sound as lovely as Kayla’s.
I think of you.
Too much.
When I wake, at breakfast, in the afternoon, at night.
When I lay down my head.
I see you.
