Page 2 of When We Were Younger

"Our girl is tying the knot!" Kira shrieks as she bounces, the motion of the phone moving up and down, making me feel borderline seasick.

"Keeks!" Georgie and I say at the same time as Rachel pops into the frame and places two hands on Kira's shoulders to settle her. I set my iPad down on my coffee table and plop crisscross applesauce on the floor in front of it as I pop the cork on my bottle of champagne.

"I knew he'd do it today!" I squeal as I take a swig of Dom. I plaster a smile on my face to hide the dull pang of hurt that I'm not there in person to hug my girl on such a special occasion.

"How?" Rachel asks as she opens their own bottle of champagne. "It was seemingly out of nowhere."

"Yeah, one minute I'm entertaining the crowd with tales of my sexual escapades and the next, Adler practically had his dick out and up Georgie's dress on the balcony. Seriously, I saw a full-on cock print. His fly was bursting at the seams. G, how does he keep that thing contained? I imagine it's something like trying to wrestle a king cobra into a tube of mascara."

"KIRA!" Georgie, Rachel and I all shriek at once, me fighting off my laughter and the two of them looking like they want to whack her upside the head with a throw pillow.

"Wait!" Georgie says between giggles, picking up the phone from where it fell out of Kira's hands and onto the floor. When her face fills the screen, she looks lovely. A happy pink glow on her cheeks compliments her signature bright red lipstick. "How did you know he was going to propose at all?"

I give my girl a sly smirk and the three of us take turns filling her in on the tale of how her fiancé brought us together, acknowledged that the four of us we were each other's soulmates, and asked us for her hand. I can't help the lone tear beading in the corner of my eye as Georgie swoons and cries on the other end of the call.

"I want to be mad at the archaic notion that a manwould need anyone's permission but mine to marry me, but let's be real. If he didn't have The Pussy Posse stamp of approval, Adler would've gotten a hard 'no' from me." Georgie wipes a tear from her own cheek as Kira holds a bottle of champagne to her red lips, urging her to sip.

"Alright!" I say, clapping my hands together to get the attention of my ladies. "Georgie girl is engaged, it's time to get down to business. Bridesmaids, color schemes, locations, dress inspo. I need a Pinterest board going ASAP!"

Over the next hour, I pester Georgie about details while scrolling through social media looking for inspiration for her big day, while she hems and haws and says some variation of "I don't care, I just want to marry him!" every few minutes. I'm concluding that I am going to be planning this wedding on my own and hopefully, with unlimited access to a billionaire's credit card.

The excitement starts to wind down and I'm ready to bid my friends farewell to treat myself to a long bath, an orgasm or three with my air vibe, takeout sushi and an early bedtime. Then Kira utters the question I've been dreading since the first time she brought the subject up a few weeks ago in August, while I was trying to enjoy my first pumpkin spice latte.

"Dot, you still have to tell me what you're doing about the holidays. Are you gonna pull your head out of your ass and come to Tennessee with me?" she asks, pulling the phone away from where Rachel is stylingGeorgie's hair into a twist to demonstrate a possible wedding day-do.

I groan, loudly and for an exaggerated period, like I always do anytime the topic of returning to Tennessee is broached in my presence.

It's not that I have anything against the state. Tennessee whiskey? The Lord's juice. Nashville hot chicken for breakfast, lunch, and dinner? Sign me up.

But Dottie Lynn Hart setting foot back in Fox Hill?

To quote the great Randy Jackson: "It's a no from me, dawg."

"Do we have to talk about the holidays? They're weeks away," I whine, pushing my face down onto the counter and nuzzling into the crook of my elbow.

"Oh I don't think so," Kira chastises, standing up and shaking her head. Her southern accent is all but gone at this point, but Rachel says that whenever Kira and I talk, both of us fall back into our twangy voices. I can confirm because right now she sounds like a grandma sipping on a mint julep, threatening to whoop me from her front porch.

"G, I'm going to your office. I need to yell at Dottie girl in private," Kira calls over her shoulder, and I look away from the screen to avoid the inevitable motion sickness I'll get from her skipping.

That's another thing about Kira. Girlie skips everywhere she goes. She's perpetually happy and I don't understand it.

"Dottieeeeeeee, you always make me go back to Fox Hole alone. Every damn year. Christmas, Fourth of July,Arbor Day. It's not fair. What's the point of showing up all those girls from high school with how hot and successful we are if you're not there with me?" Kira says, slamming the door to Georgie's office closed behind her.

"Keeks, I gotta say, I'm not quite as invested in ‘showing up all those girls’ as you are," I say, exaggerating my finger quotes right in front of the iPad camera.

"You should be. We're sexy, we're rich, we're part of a gorgeous girl group chock-full of brilliant women, and I don't know about you, but I have the numbers of James Adler's Centurion card saved on my phone. You and I are living the fucking life. I will never understand why none of them wanted to be our friends when we were teenagers."

I don't have the heart to tell her no one wanted to be our friend because I was always too busy with my boyfriend and most people thought she was way too loud. Instead, I ask,

"Does James know you have his card number saved?"

"What I do with James Adler's credit card is none of his business," she scoffs, waving a hand. "Come on. Come back with me. You can stay with me at my dads’ place. You know Pops and IronDad would love to have you. We can do all the cheesy Fox Hole holiday shit. Plus, Dean will be home between games! You know you love seeing my brother get white-girl-wasted on Pop's Cosmos! You don't have to even leave the mountain if you don't want to."

I chew on the inside of my cheek. It's been nine and half years since the last time I was in Fox Hole. My mother skipped town not long after I did, but even if she hadn't, I wouldn't be clobbering to go visit her in my childhood home. Mom tolerates my existence just as well as I tolerate hers: perfectly, if we continue to pretend like the other doesn't exist. I haven't seen her in years, haven't spoken a word to her since the morning after senior prom. I don't even know where she lives anymore. Florida, maybe?

Who knows, who cares?

As bleak as that sounds, there's no true sob story there. Mom got pregnant young and the guy skipped town. She didn't want me, she drank, she criticized, she said some shit that messed with my eighteen-year-old brain and I left home as soon as I possibly could. I've made my peace with it in therapy, and that's that.

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