Page 15 of Play Me
“Thanks.” I smile at my friends. “Did you guys get here early or what? I’m twelve minutes early myself, and you already have drinks.”
“Yeah. We carpooled, and traffic was light. We got you a glass of sangria,” Gianna says, pointing at a drink in front of me.
My friends know me so well. “Thank you.”
Stupey’s is busy but not crowded, especially for a Saturday night. The cozy eatery transitions from a bougie sandwich shop during the day to sandwiches and a rotating menu of dinners at night. It’s one of those places where you feel at home as soon as you walk in the door.
I take a sip of my drink and watch my friends look at photos on Audrey’s phone. Gianna’s trademark navy blue nails shine under the light hanging above our table, while a delicate pink ribbon hangs down Audrey’s long blond hair. You wouldn’t necessarily think the two of them, opposites in so many ways, would be such good friends. Add me and my clipboard to the mix, and none of it should make sense. But it does.
Gianna keeps things spicy. Audrey keeps us grounded. I balance them, encouraging Audrey to spread her wings, but keeping Gianna from overextending hers. I try, anyway.
“What are you two looking at?” I ask, leaning over to get a peek.
Audrey turns her phone to show me her screen. Her cheeks are as pink as the ribbon in her hair. “We’re looking atthis.”
“I know you’re shocked,” Gianna says, hiding a grin.
Staring back at me is Audrey’s kryptonite—a blond-haired, blue-eyed mixed martial arts expert.Her brother’s best friend. It’s a small inconvenience that he doesn’t know she exists. This doesn’t stop her from trying, and I respect her game. She attends as many of her brother’s fights as she can, positioning herself in as many places as her crush will likely be. So far, no luck.
“I actually ran into him a couple of nights ago,” she says, pushing her hair off her shoulder. She threatens to cut it at least once a month, but chickens out at the last minute every time. “A bunch of the guys went to a dive bar after the fights, and Andrew was nice enough to let his little sister tag along.”
Gianna giggles. “I’m sorry. The thought of our sweet little Audrey at an MMA fight still cracks me up.”
Audrey fires her the meanest look she can manage, which isn’t more than a wrinkle of her nose.
“Did you actually talk to him?” I ask.
She smiles from ear to ear. “I did. I mean, we just said hello. But it’s a start, right?”
“Absolutely,” I say, smiling back at her.
Kim, our favorite server, comes by and drops off this weekend’s dinner menu.
“Oh!” Audrey says, digging into her purse. “I brought you guys something from Boston.” She retrieves two small squares and hands Gianna one and me the other. “I saw the star earrings at a little touristy shop by the beach and knew you had to have them, Astrid.”
“I love these,” I say, touched by her thoughtfulness. “Thanks, Aud.”
I run my thumb over the small pink stars with a slight shimmer that will look great in my collection. My grandmother started it for me when I was a baby. Despite my name having no connection to stars, Grandma thought it did and said that stars reminded her of me. I wear a pair of star earrings almost every day. They make me feel closer to her.
Often, I wonder what she would think about the life I’m creating for myself.Would she be proud of me? Disappointed? What were her hopes and dreams for her only grandchild?I’ll never know, and that’s precisely why not having those answers shouldn’t bother me.
Yet it does.
“Yours aren’t earrings, Gianna,” Audrey says, “but I loved this little pin. The pencil reminds me of your journals and all the writing you do for the column.” She grins. “I hope you love it and don’t think it’s silly.”
“Are you kidding me?” Gianna inspects her gift. “I love it. It’s perfect.” She looks up and winces. “But now I feel rude.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Because Aud brought me a gift, and I have a shirt in my purse that I brought for her to hem.”
I laugh, taking another drink of my sangria while Audrey convinces Gianna she’s not rude. Even if it were, Audrey would never tell Gianna that. She’s too sweet.
The faint music drifting through the dining area shifts from a piano interlude to a soft opera. I know absolutely nothing about operas or music, in general, for that matter. But every time I listen to this genre, I can’t help but wonder what they’re singing about.Are they falling in love? Heartbroken? Are they ready to commit murder?They could be singing about orgies and cocaine for all I know. It sounds lovely and romantic, regardless.
“Are you ladies ready to order?” Kim asks, pausing at our table.
“We can be,” I say, handing my friends menus from the stack at the end of the table. “It’s not like we haven’t tried everything at one point or another.”
