Shut Up and Kiss Me (Happy Endings 2)

Once he’s gone, I let out a breath of relief.

Being with him hurts. Friendship-land doesn’t feel so friendly at all. It’s strained and awkward—a genie trying to stuff herself back into the damned lamp.

I exit the café too, drop my backpack at the hotel, then head to Central Park. Wandering over Gapstow Bridge, I stop to stare at the pond below, then I walk along the mall, drinking in the sights, the trees, the dogs, the kids, the people.

Briefly, I slip back in time to my road trip with Callie, our Route 66 tour that took us through Texas, around the Grand Canyon, into Nevada. We crossed the expansive United States, stopped at roadside diners and Cadillacs parked like popsicles on the side of the road. I flick through those pictures in my mind like a photo album, reliving the times we had.

I remember, too, the way she said, thanks, babes, when we cruised back into San Francisco, spent, exhausted, butts sore, but hearts full.

“You’re welcome, babes,” I said back.

Callie was never a New York fan. Part of me wishes she could see it through my eyes—the colors, the people, the bikers, the trails.

All the New Yorkness of it.

But that’s okay. We wanted different things.

Like . . .

“Cutie pie!”

My gaze jerks to the warm, grandmotherly voice of Dot.

She wheels over to me on hot pink rollerblades, decked out in pink shorts, a gray sweatshirt, knee and elbow pads, and a matching helmet. Bette is by her side, dressed in red.

I glance around, then cup my mouth. “Where’s your pit bull?”

Dot laughs and shushes me, holding a finger to her lips. “We escaped. Don’t tell her.”

“Evelyn doesn’t want you to rollerblade?” I ask.

“She just wants us to be safe,” Bette says.

“But sometimes we like to play.” Dot shrugs. “We’ve always wanted to rollerblade. So, we’re doing it.”

“Just for fun,” Bette adds.

That’s the best reason ever. “Good for you.”

Bette looks me up and down. “Why doesn’t your smile reach your eyes, sweetie?”

I sigh. “Is it that obvious?”

Dot chimes in, “You look a little bit broken.”

Called it. “Maybe I am.”

“You ought to fix that, then. Maybe try rollerblading with us,” Dot suggests.

That sounds like a brilliant idea, so I find the rental kiosk, change out of my shoes and into blades, then spend the afternoon chasing Dot and Bette around the park.

Afterward, they invite me to dinner, and over our meal of penne pasta at an Italian restaurant on Seventy-Second and Amsterdam, we don’t talk about men, or work, or jobs.

In fact, I don’t talk much at all.

Instead, I ask questions, listening to stories of their friendship, how they’ve known each other since kindergarten, how they depend on each other. How lucky they are to have this life.

I run my thumb over my ladybug charm.

I want that.

Not their life. But certainty in how to live my life.

I might not have the best friend I imagined I’d have for all my days, but I do know where I want to be. I do know what I want to do. Seeing these two women living their best life confirms what I’ve suspected for a while.

After I say goodnight to Dot and Bette, I call Jo and make plans to meet before she leaves tomorrow.

Then I make a harder call, this time to my mother. I have a question for her, and though I think I know the answer, I need hers.

So, I ask, and then I listen.

“Yes,” she says after a thoughtful pause. “I do think that’s what you’ve done.” Her voice is a warm blanket wrapping around me as she speaks. “But maybe it’s time to let that go?”

The thought panics me slightly. But yet, letting go is exactly what I need to do. What I started to realize that day in the park when Nolan and I talked about my terrible taste in men.

I may not have picked the best guys, but that isn’t what’s held me back. Something else has, and it’s finally time to say goodbye to the one last reason I haven’t let myself love.

24

Rent and Other Trifling Things

Nolan

* * *

In the morning, my phone flashes with a text from Emerson.

Can you grab a cup of coffee with me before we say goodbye to Jo? There’s something I want to talk to you about. Yes, I know that sounds ominous, but I promise it’s not bad news.

No, what’s bad news is she’s inviting me for coffee and not to her room.

But that’s on me. I’m the one who shut the door on us.

Thirty minutes later, I push open the door to Doctor Insomnia’s Tea and Coffee Emporium, finding her waiting at a table with two cups of espresso. She looks radiant, and I want to kiss her eyelids, her cheek, her lips.

Instead, I sit across from her.

She slides a cup to me.