Page 4 of A Lucky Shot

Jill sat solo at their usual booth and sprang up to greet her and Libby with a crushing hug. Cass slid across the red plastic bench, worn smooth by the butts of a thousand families before them, Libby crashing in after her in a storm of faded turquoise hair.

Cass picked strands of Libby’s hair out of her mouth and didn’t bother asking where the other girls were. They would all be variations of the same excuse. Kids, significant others, work.

At least ever since Jill joined their circle, the only brunch date she’d missed was when she’d been out of town. Even if it meant she came straight from the shelter with cat hair still on her clothes.

Cass would take a cat hair-covered friend over an absent friend any day.

Their server circled by their table seconds later for their orders, and Cass turned to her friend who was always pretty, but today glowed like she had swallowed the sun.

“So, is it just us today?” Jill was shredding her napkin into ribbons, and from the way she was jackhammering in her seat, Cass knew her friend’s foot was bobbing in triple time under the table.

“Yep!” Cass forced a cheerful smile. “We could probably start booking a smaller booth?—”

“Alex proposed yesterday!” Jill blurted out.

Cass let out a whoop and jumped around to the other side of the booth. “Congratulations!”

“Tell us all about it! Leave out no detail,” Libby said, sliding in from the other side and smooshed their beaming friend between them.

Jill described a day of coffee in bed that started hours earlier than Cass could fathom, a monster hike that made her tired just listening to it, and a blushing allusion to some frisky hands along the summit that … actually, that part sounded pretty good.

A couple of years with only her vibrator for company was getting stale.

“… and then I was screaming yes! at the top of my lungs before Alex could even get the words out,” Jill finished with a breathless laugh.

If there was any proposal more perfect for her friend, Cass couldn’t think of it.

“Lemme see the ring,” Cass said, making grabby motions with her hands.

Jill flushed but held out her left hand to show off a modest antique ring, and Cass swallowed a sudden wistfulness that threaded her stomach.

Another friend moving on to marriage, and likely motherhood, turning her attention to the new chapter in her life.

At least my first emotion was joy for her, and not sadness at losing another friend.

“I’m so happy for you,” Cass said, and any remaining heaviness faded with her friend’s shining eyes. “Any dates planned yet?”

“Alex would get married this afternoon if he had it his way, but we don’t know where we’re going to have it, let alone when.”

Libby took a swig of her coffee. “Just elope and skip all the annoying details. Family drama? Trying to decide on what colour of tablecloth? No, thanks.”

“As tempting as eloping sounds, we have people we want to be there with us.”

Already turning into we instead of me. Cass hitched her smile up her cheeks. “I’m sure you already have a wedding planning app downloaded.”

A blush crept up her friend’s neck. “Three of them. But if I have to delete another push notification threatening wedding annihilation if I don’t decide on save-the-date invitation fonts eighteen months in advance, I’ll just cave to Alex and use APA standard formatting.”

Libby snorted. “Ah, engineers are so romantic.”

“In his own way,” Jill said, grinning into her pancakes.

From her friend’s smile, it sounded like Jill’s boyfriend—wait, make that fiancé—was the right kind of romantic for her. No surprise, really. One crook of her finger and the man would break an ankle running to her. If Jill wanted a unicorn to officiate their ceremony, Alex would find a way.

Cass swallowed a bite of her French toast. “I’m just glad you still came to brunch today. You’ll probably be too busy soon, planning everything.”

“I wouldn’t miss spending time with you two,” Jill said, tsking.

Lots of friends had said that before. But then girlfriends stepped out of the single scene, trading weekend trips for wedding planning. Sunday mimosas for management positions. New jobs that meant longer hours. Kids at soccer practice instead of new art exhibits. That was how it went.

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