“Yeah, so I really need to go shopping ASAP. Thanks again for inviting me to Bunco tonight, but—”
“You don’t need to go shopping and we’re not actually playing Bunco, silly. We’re going to help you get ready for the wedding of the century,” she said making air quote marks around the last few words. “My mom’s description, not mine.”
“That’s nice of you, but—”
“No worries,” Mimi said. “Think of us as eleven fairy godmothers who have everything under control, including dress, hair, shoes, and makeup. We’re meeting at Lauren Miller’s. You know where she lives, right?”
“She and Nate won my home-cooked dinner at the silent auction, so yes, I’ve been there.”
“Great. Seven pm sharp,” Mimi said firmly. “And don’t be late!”
* * *
“You’re going where?” Luke asked. He’d already packed, of course. Men were so uncomplicated. When she’d asked him about his tux, he informed her that he had one at his Atlanta condo. What sort of man kept a tux ready to go in his closet?
The kind of man who went to a lot of fancy shindigs, that’s who. Sarah couldn’t remember the last time she’d worn a long evening dress (prom probably didn’t count), so that would basically be never.
“I’m going to Bunco with your sister. She and her friends are going to help me get ready for the wedding.”
“Get ready how?”
“They’re going to help me with a dress, hair, makeup, that kind of thing,” she said repeating Mimi’s words. In other words, they were going to make her over so she wouldn’t be a complete embarrassment.
He grabbed his truck keys and leaned down to kiss her on the cheek. “Sounds like fun,” he said in a tone that implied he thought the exact opposite. He looked at her a second, then frowned. “Don’t let them do anything crazy. You look great just the way you are.”
“Said by a man who would look good in a potato sack,” she muttered. “Where are you going again?” It occurred to her that they’d both asked what the other was doing tonight, the way a real couple would.
“I’m meeting Brad Connors for a drink over at The Harbor House bar. He wanted to talk to me about something. Probably to hit me up with a donation for the school.” He patted the back pocket of his jeans where he kept his wallet. “I’ve got a check all ready just in case.”
“That sounds nice,” she said, knowing that she sounded distracted.
“Hey.” He cupped the side of her face with his big hand. “Don’t worry about this wedding. Just go have fun with Mimi and her friends tonight.”
The gesture was so tender, she had to blink back a tear. She wanted to tell him that she’d changed her mind and didn’t want to go to his beautiful ex-girlfriend’s wedding. That all she wanted was for them to stay here at home all weekend. Cooking and hanging out at the beach and watching movies and making love.
But this wasn’t really home. And they weren’t a couple.
This was fun and great sex and lots of laughs.
But it wasn’t real life.
* * *
Lauren and Nate Miller lived in a remodeled, nineteen-thirties, Spanish revival that could have been on the cover of one of those fancy architectural magazines. Artfully decorated with expensive looking furniture, it was the perfect upscale home for a physician and his successful business owner wife. But the house also smelled like sugar cookies and the sound of Lauren’s son, Henry, and his friends laughing from the family room, as well as happy barking from Hector (a little dachshund with a big personality), made the house feel like the kind of comfortable home anyone would want to live in.
“Can I tell you again how much I love this house?” Sarah said to Lauren, who’d just given her a tour.
“Thanks,” Lauren said, beaming. “Nate bought the house after he moved back to town to work with Doc Morrison, but I did all the decorating after we got married.”
The Babes—minus Frida, of course, who was still vacationing in Europe—were all in attendance and chatting about the upcoming school year and family events. There was food and music and wine and lots of laughter. Mimi and Lauren, the two preggos in the group, were the only ones who weren’t drinking, thus the only ones who weren’t already just a tiny bit tipsy.
Lauren’s husband, Nate, a handsome man in his early thirties with brown hair and glasses, walked through the living area on his way to the kitchen. “Cameron is beating everyone on the Xbox,” he said to Mimi.
“That’s my boy!” Mimi said, holding up her glass of apple juice.
Nate gazed at his wife in concern. “You okay?” he asked. “You look a little flushed.”
“That’s because I’m a million weeks pregnant. You try carrying around a ten-pound baby.”