Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88992 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
“Yeah, it is. Drake said he would feel the situation out and decide on the spot whether to bring it up. He wants to make sure whatever happens is his mom’s choice, since so much of her life these days isn’t. Do you know what I mean?”
“Of course, I understand.”
“We could renovate and create a separate wing of our house with a full kitchen, bedroom, en suite—all the things. It’s important to Drake.”
And to you. “I’m sure it is. And I think it’s really kind of you to open your home to them like this.”
“Astrid and I went to Stupey’s last night for dinner,” she says in her trademark Gianna Bardot I’m done discussing emotions kind of way. “Kim brought your usual Arnold Palmer to the table and was offended that no one told her you were leaving town. I left her a big tip as an apology, so you owe me a manicure and thirty bucks.”
I giggle. “I’ll happily reimburse you.”
“But I also want to point out how unfair it is that when you’re home, we’re missing Astrid. And when she’s in town, you’re not.” Gianna huffs. “Why can’t I just have both of my best friends here at once? Is that too much to ask?”
Frowning, I sigh because I know exactly what she means.
The dynamic between the three of us has changed a lot lately. Gianna and Astrid have found their soul mates and are living their happiest and best lives ever—and I couldn’t be more thrilled for them. But I also couldn’t be more bummed for me.
I haven’t mentioned it to either of my friends because I don’t want them to take it the wrong way. And I don’t want to be a spoilsport. I’m truly over the moon that they’ve hit the love jackpot—Gray and Drake are the literal best men ever—but their life progression has forced me to look into a mirror and take an honest look at my reflection … and I don’t like what I see.
Gianna and Astrid lived, experienced, and made mistakes before they settled down. They have stories to tell their grandchildren someday. Gianna will need to edit a lot of hers, but that’s beside the point.
I don’t have any stories to tell.
I’m the same girl I was when I was twelve—just with bigger boobs and better shoes. I’m kind and sweet, a descriptor that has been used so darn much that I’m ready to scream. They say it like it’s a badge of honor, and I suppose there are worse things people could say about me. But I’ve come to realize that sweet is all I am. I’m a rule-follower, a good girl just like my parents designed. And I’m so, so sick of it.
“How long are you going to be gone?” Gianna asks. “Do you hate it out there yet? Do you miss me?”
I laugh at her dramatics yet love them at the same time. “I’m not sure what I’m doing. Just taking it day by day until I’m ready to come home. And, of course, I miss you. Are you kidding me?”
“If you get lonely, call me.”
Laughing, I take another sip of coffee. “The whole purpose of coming here was to be lonely.”
“Which I’ll never understand.”
“I just need to figure some things out,” I say. “I’m having a minor ontological reckoning, and I need some space to work through it.”
There’s a pause, and I can imagine Gianna tilting her head at me in question.
“Okay, first, I don’t know what an ontological reckoning is, and I’m okay with that,” she says. “But second, and most importantly, you don’t have to do anything alone. You know that, right?”
I grin. “I know. I know you’d be here if I asked you to, and that’s why you’re my best friend. But I realized that I’ve outsourced my identity for the past twenty-seven years, and I want to figure out who I am under all the …” Sweetness.“Layers.”
A part of me feels bad excluding my friends from this process, but it’s something I must do alone. I’ve been too passive, too much of a bystander in my life up to this point. I’ve let too many people mold and form the person they wanted me to be instead of doing the shaping myself. I don’t know what the result will look like, but I know I have to be the one to get me there.
“Just know that we love every layer of you, all the way to the bottom,” Gianna says before gagging. “And that’s enough goopy talk for one morning. It’s not even noon yet. Damn.”
I giggle.
“Moving on,” she says as if she’s shaking off an emotional plague. “Remember Matilda? The sourdough starter my sister gave me?”
“Yeah, I remember when Lucia gave it to you. But didn’t Matilda die?”
Gianna groans. “Yes, she met a very untimely death from neglect, and I wasn’t sad about it. It got me off the hook from having to try to make bread. But Lucia didn’t take the hint and brought me Margo, Matilda’s twin sister. So now …” She blows out a breath. “I’m not good at domestic shit. I think I’m in the process of committing another yeast-based homicide.”