“I’ll say. Look at you, girl.” Sharon’s pride is evident and her smile somehow broadens when I look back at her. “The best of both worlds,” she says as if it’s not a pickle I’m in. Like it could just go on forever like this. Oh my Lord, there is no way it can go on like this for much longer.
“For the longest time, you were the one not getting any. And now you’re probably getting more than any of us.”
“Speak for yourself,” Autumn says and playfully smacks Sharon with the pillow once again, although this time it lacks force.
“Hot damn,” Renee pipes up, aiding in changing the direction of the conversation. “So everyone’s getting some.”
“Wait, what?” I have to take in what she’s said twice. “You and Griffin?”
“No.” Renee’s quick to backpedal, saying, “No, I mean you guys. I’m not with Griffin.”
“What’s going on there?” Sharon asks, leaning in and now the object of focus has become Renee.
“There’s nothing there,” Renee responds calmly, stealing some of my throw blanket for herself. “And we were talking about Magnolia.”
Traitor! I can’t help the bubble of laughter. “Throw me to the wolves, why don’t ya?”
“Now we’re wolves?” Autumn pulls both of her legs up to sit cross-legged in her seat. “Look what you did, Sharon. Now we’re wolves.” She chuckles into her glass and it’s infectious.
“I’m sorry,” Sharon says, holding up both hands. “I just want to know what’s going on so I know who to root for is all.” Her bare feet pad on the flagstone as she gets up to reach for her own throw. As the sun sets behind us even further, the solar lights switch on and in an instant, it feels that much cooler.
Renee takes her place at the fire again, poking and prodding the flames along.
“I don’t even know who to root for,” I tell them. “It’s … it’s just a mess and I don’t know. Neither of them have said anything about dating or boyfriend-girlfriend shenanigans.”
“Do people still use that phrase?” Autumn questions.
“Boyfriend and girlfriend?” Renee clarifies.
I can only shrug, and Sharon peeks up from over her glass to find us all waiting for an answer.
“What was the question?” she asks and Autumn leans her head back against the headrest then moans, “Oh my word, someone help this woman.”
“In all seriousness, though, I think Mags is going through a lot and maybe that’s why it’s a bit different?”
“From the outside looking in, it seems like it,” Autumn says, nodding in agreement.
I tell them, “It’s just been a lot recently … because of Bridget.”
Sharon nods and comments, “Well, that makes sense.”
“Do you have the results yet?” Autumn asks at the same time that Sharon asks, “… So, this Brody. He’s the Brody. For sure, for sure.” That’s already been established via text messages over the past week in bits and pieces. Girls’ night was desperately needed.
“Not yet, and correct,” I answer and then pick my glass back up, gathering my thoughts.
Autumn says, “So … Brody is like the new hot guy who’s also an old flame?”
“But then there’s Robert, and we all know that’s never really been over,” Sharon adds. Every bottle of wine that’s ever graced this patio knows Robert’s never really been out of the picture.
“Robert really asked you to marry him?” Autumn asks and I know she must be feeling the alcohol because we’ve all already covered this in text messages. So I just nod.
“I feel guilty just thinking about it.”
“What did he say?” Sharon asks, seeming to sober up as she pulls her hair into a ponytail. “Like, he had to have said something to go from zero to one hundred.”
“He brought up a promise he made years ago. He said we were meant to be together.”
“He played with your heartstrings,” Renee chimes in.
“That he did.” I take a deep breath and then a long gulp of red.
Autumn, cross-legged and glass of wine in her hand, asks a question I’ve thought about since the moment I stood up from the table. “If Brody hadn’t shown up, would you have said yes?”
All the girls lean in. It’s so quiet all I can hear is the sizzle and snap of burning wood in the sputtering firepit while my heart runs away again. That’s all it’s done lately. It’s trying to escape the torture I’m putting it through.
I don’t have to think it through to know the answer to that question.
“Yeah,” I answer and my throat feels dry all of a sudden. Too dry for a single gulp of wine to quench it, so I take more sips of the sweet red. “If Robert had asked me any time in the past year, I could see saying yes to him, but wanting to keep it a secret for a bit. To ease into it publicly, you know?”