“Si,” I admit softly.
“Oh, babe, you feel like you betrayed him, huh?”
Jesucristo,she hits the nail on the head and hammers it home right away.
“You can’t think like that. Tommy would want you to live your life. You weren’t celibate before him. I mean, am I a little surprised you had sex so soon? Maybe. But didn’t you say it had been a while before he died?”
“A month.”
“Fuck me running! A month. Were you guys having problems? I’m big, fat, and pregnant, and Phil and I still fuck like rabbits!”
“Ugggh, it’s complicated. He was busy with work. I was doing rehearsals late every night. Then Gigi. Then the fire.”
“Uh-huh, okay. I guess I understand, but that doesn’t sound like you. Not that it matters, but honey, he’s been gone for—what—a few weeks now? Add a month on top of that and you’ve been celibate for longer than I’ve ever known you to be.”
Iamthe resident sex fiend in the group. Before all this, I owned my sexuality and never felt guilty for my choices.
“There’s more you’re not telling me about this dude, isn’t there? I can feel it in my heart.”
Bree has a weird sixth sense about her friends. I blame it on her yoga training and practice. That Eastern stuff gets you super close to your inner self and those around you.
I close my eyes. “Maybe.”
“If you don’t let it out, it’s going to eat you alive. If you can’t tell one of your best friends, who can you tell?”
“Elijah is Tommy’s twin brother.” I swallow and wait for the fire and brimstone to rain down from the sky, through the phone, in a sudden shaking of the earth, but nothing happens. “Bree?”
I wait. And wait.
“Bree! Are you there?”
“I’m here,” she says in a strained tone. “I’m just trying to wrap my mind around…”Giggle.
Oh no. She is not…
A huge bout of laughter fills the phone and hurts my ear. “Oh my God, Maria, I’m going to pee my pants. Only you. Only you would hook up with your boyfriend’s twin brother.” She guffaws loud and long. “I mean, do they look exactly the same?”
“Kind of. I mean, they are identical.”
“Identical!” she screams, and her laughter takes her to the piggy-snort place where she starts coughing.
“This. Is. Not. Funny.” My voice is strained, ready to go off.
“Oh yes it is! Think about it, Ria. Only you could bang the identical brother”—she is breathing heavily—“this is made-for-TV movie shit. Seriously, I can’t even.”
“You are not helping.”
Eventually her laughter subsides. “I know, I know. But, honey, it’s really wild.”
“Now that’s the truth. But I don’t know what to do.”
Finally she calms down, her voice softening to the tone she uses when she speaks to her yoga clientele. “Honey, do you like this Elijah?”
More flashes of last night filter through my mind. Him kissing me, taking me to new heights, our long chats, the shower, sleeping wrapped in his arms. The safety I feel when I’m with him.
“Yeah.”
“Then what’s the problem?”