Page 63 of Love Harder

It helped to have a friend there, but I realized it might be daunting for him, so I suggested we meet at the beach to ensure we didn’t hate one another first.

Frankie and I caught up, and like always, it was like no time had passed since the last time we saw one another, which was over a year ago. Frankie’s heart is so big and kind. I feel blessed to be in her presence because I love, admire, and respect her so much.

So her opinion of Brooklyn meant something to me.

We were drinking cocktails by the pool when Brooklyn called.

This was it.

The time had come…or not.

“My cat hasn’t come back, so I can’t come.”

Okay, being an owner of three cats, I get this. I too would be a mess if they didn’t come home when they’re supposed to.

This wasn’t an excuse, I assured myself, because I knew how much his cat meant to him. He loved all animals, which was one of the many things I liked about him.

I said it was okay and to come see me when it suited him.

We hung up, and I told Frankie and some other friends who had arrived, all of whom were likewhat the fuck?

Really?

His cat…

I couldn’t help but feel that perhaps this was an excuse, after all, but I didn’t want to believe that it was.

What will be, will be, and I enjoyed the night with my friends.

The following morning, Brooklyn texted.

He was definitely coming after work and staying.

And I believed him.

Frankie had the cure to my nerves—cocktails, of course.

Another friend was flying in to spend time with us. Pinkie.

Pinkie’s heart is too big for this world. She is nothing but smiles and love. I can tell her anything and know she will listen for as long as I need to vent. And vice versa because she has the best stories. She offers the best advice, and being in her presence just makes me so happy. There is a warmth about her that is so contagious.

I told her about Brooklyn and the other boys I had tragic romances with. It was nice to catch up. Through thick and thin, my friendships are forever present, reminding me that no matter what happens, those relationships are real.

A few cocktails in, Brooklyn called and said he would be at the house in an hour.

It was happening—like really happening.

And us three friends did what any good friends would do—we frantically moved my things to the third floor. I think back on this with such fondness. It was a flurry of excitement as we giggled about all the things friends giggle about.

My friends carried all my things, thrilled that I could potentially meet “the one.”

They knew about the non-ones, so they were rooting for me.

We made the bed in the prettiest linens and I threw a bunch of clothes at them, asking for their opinion on which they liked best. This also applied to lingerie and sleepwear.

Nothing is off-limits when it comes to my friends.

With everything settled, I showered and got ready.

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