“What did she say this time?” Noelle asks just as Frankie comes by with a tray of glasses, a carafe of orange juice, and two bottles of champagne.
“Frankie, Frankie, Frankie. You are my favorite man on the planet.” I reach for the champagne and take a swig right out of the bottle.
“Charlotte has had a bad morning, if you can’t tell,” Amelia explains as I fight the bubbles from going up my nose. Luckily, I manage to maintain my composure as I take down the liquid and set the bottle on the table.
“My sweet Charlotte,” he says in his Greek accent. “How can I make your day better?” I smile up at our friend, his bald head shining under the fluorescent lights above us, his bushy eyebrows drawn together.
“Just keep the mimosas coming, Frankie.” I reach for his hand, squeezing it for good measure.
“Of course. I’ll come back when Penelope arrives.”
We watch him take off and then Noelle starts filling our glasses with the perfect mixture of champagne and orange juice—eighty percent booze, twenty percent juice.
“Okay, so back to your mom…”
“What else would she say to put me in a mood?”
Noelle sighs and Amelia shakes her head. “Still pressuring you to find a husband, huh?”
“I swear, it’s like my parents can’t be proud of anything I’ve accomplished because I’m not married and popping out babies on top of it. Back in high school, the pressure was to be the perfect daughter—get good grades, dress the part so we looked like the perfect family, and rank in the top five of my graduating class. But now as an adult? I think I’d rather go back to those expectations than the ones she’s holding me to now.”
“Your dad feels this way too?” Amelia asks, taking a sip from her glass once Noelle slides one to each of us.
“Honestly, he just goes along with what my mom says. It’s probably the reason they’ve been married this long—she gets to do whatever she wants and he just lets her.”
Noelle chuckles. “Honestly, that sounds boring. I mean, ideally you think if a man lets you get away with bloody murder, you’d be happy. But I want someone who’s going to challenge me and fight back. It’s no fun to be right if no one argues otherwise.”
I tilt my glass toward her, clinking them together. “Amen. And that along with the fact that most men have an issue with a woman who is just as successful and powerful as they are, it’s no wonder I’m still single. It’s like my success is a threat to their manhood, or something.”
“Good morning, bitches!” Penelope strides up to us looking way too dressed up for a Sunday morning brunch. Noelle, Amelia, and I are dressed down in sundresses or leggings and a flowy top—but Penelope strides up to us in a strapless black dress that clings tightly to her body and four-inch heels. Her hair is piled up on her head though, as if she didn’t brush it and just threw it up on her way out the door.
On second thought…
“Are you doing the walk of shame?” I ask her as she takes turns kissing us all on the cheek.
“No, because there is no shame in my walk at all,” she states proudly, plopping down into the seat next to me and reaching for her drink. After she drains half the glass, she sets it down and continues. “Why should any woman, or person, for that matter be ashamed for getting laid the night before?”
“They shouldn’t. Please forgive me,” I apologize happily.
“Can I counter that question with why you insist on calling us bitches?” Amelia interjects.
“Have you ever come across a female dog that’s been threatened? Or someone who is clearly displeased? They’re ruthless, defensive, and not afraid to bark and protect themselves or their young. Now, you three aren’t my offspring, obviously…” She tilts her head. “But I know that if anyone threatened any of us, we’d all be there to defend one another.” Her smile widens as Amelia shakes her head back at her. “So, don’t take it the wrong way, Amelia Be Delia…it’s truly a term of endearment for you all…” And then she smirks before ending with, “Bitches.”
Noelle snorts, I chuckle, and Amelia sighs, relenting to the fact that Penelope did what she always does—shuts any naysayer down. “Why do I even bother asking anymore?”
“Because that’s who you are, my friend.” She reaches across the table and bops Amelia on the nose. “And don’t ever change.”
“So who was the lucky guy?” I ask just as I see Frankie head in our direction.
Penelope shrugs. “Just some bouncer at the club for last night’s event. He checked off all of my boxes, and definitely knew how to press my buttons…the right ones that is, if you catch my drift.” She bounces her eyebrows as Frankie arrives at the table.
“Penelope,” he greets her. “So fancy for brunch today.”
“I always try to look good for you, Frankie,” she says, flashing him a wink.
“None of you ladies have to try hard to do that.” See? This is why this man is the best. Too bad he’s twenty-five years too old and married. “So are we having the usual today?”
“I’m gonna have the blueberry pancakes today,” I reply, switching it up from my usual egg white omelet. A girl’s gotta live a little and carbs do solve problems, despite what some people might tell you.
“Veggie omelet with hash browns,” Noelle says.
“Oatmeal and a side of fruit.” Amelia answers before placing her menu back in place behind the condiment corral.
“And for the lovely Miss Penelope?” Frankie asks, smiling down at her. It’s a good thing his wife is cool as hell because I know the flirtation is harmless from Penelope, but I’m not so sure about Frankie.
“Strawberry waffle. Extra whipped cream, please.” She flashes him a wink and then Frankie reciprocates before walking back behind the counter. “So what were you all talking about before I got here?”
“Charlotte’s mom,” Noelle replies.
“Oh, dear. What did good ol’ Savannah have to say this morning?” I go to answer, but Penelope cuts me off. “Let me guess…still pushing you to find a husband?”
“It’s like you know my life, or something,” I mock before taking down another sip of my mimosa.
“Girl, you know I love your mom…but her harping on you about this annoys the shit out of me and makes me want to channel my inner bitch to defend you. It’s 2022—women are no longer living their lives in pursuit of a husband and there is nothing fucking wrong with that.”
“I completely agree, but my mother can’t understand that.”
“I just don’t understand why this is so important? Why does a woman have to have a husband to be happy?” She glances around the table at us as we all ponder her question.
“She doesn’t, but it doesn’t mean we can’t have one and be happy too,” Noelle replies.
I glance over at Noelle, not sure where her mind is at—because if there’s one of us that I know for a fact that wants that life, it’s her.
Noelle, Amelia, Penelope and I all met in college at UCLA. We had a freshman English class together and have been inseparable ever since. Penelope was in a sorority, so she tagged us along to the parties and gave us the more classic college experience without the drama of actually being in the sisterhood. But no matter what life threw at us, we tackled it together. Now in our early thirties, we’re all well-established in our careers and financially independent—qualities that any woman should be damn proud of. However, now it’s all of society’s archaic demands that we feel breathing down our necks. Well—society and our parents, in my case.
Noelle works as a literary agent for a big name publisher downtown. She gets off on finding the next big romance author, searching through hundreds of queries just to find that diamond in the rough. And I guess after reading about fictional happily ever afters for a living, you become obsessed with finding your own.
“You don’t have to have one to be happy,” Noelle clarifies. “But I do know that I don’t want to die alone.”
“You won’t. You’ll have us,” Penelope counters. “We’re going to be those badass old ladies at the retirement center fucking shit up and running the place when the time comes.”
“Sorry, Penelope, but your lack of a penis is a big problem.” Noelle sighs and we all laugh. “And wanting a husband and needing a husband to be happy are two very different things, so I do see your point. Choosing to have a man in my life is different from just having one because someone tells me that’s what I’m supposed to do.”