Page 64 of Booked for the Holidays
She kicked his ass.
“Nope. I’m content with dying alone, an old maid surrounded by dogs. Men can fuck off.” Chandler takes a sip of her wine. After twodisastrousrelationships, she’s in no hurry to stumble into another serious arrangement. Friends with benefits, sure, but she adamantly refuses to ever give a man anything more than a night of fun. No emotions. No commitment. No strings. No heartbreak.
“I’m still not over the fact that Theo is kind of a DILF,” Lucy says. “After getting hit on by far too many creepy men at open houses, I prefer a dude my age. Theo though… he’s clearly raised a good kid. He works hard. And those tattoos are hot.”
“Wouldn’t hate them on my body,” Polly giggles. “I wonder if he has more besides the ones on his arms. Bridget, care to weigh in?”
I roll my eyes. “Sorry to disappoint, but I haven’t seen anything except his arms. He’s not that bad. His kid is great. His house is far from a dark cave or something like a spooky lair. And he fed me leftovers when he could’ve–and probably should’ve–left me out in the rain.”
“Yeah. I’m officially on the Theo Gardner train,” Skylar says.
“There’s no train! We’re done talking about him. If we say his name again he might show up, and I really don’t want to explain the DILF comment.”
“Fine.” Chandler accepts the motion to move on. “Are we all good with the traditional gift exchange again this year? Twenty dollar limit per person?”
“I’m in!” Lucy claps her hands together. “No sex toys allowed. I still have the last two you gave me, Chan. I can’t add a third.”
“They aren’t still in the box, are they?” Chandler sounds offended that the multi-use, double-sided toys she purchased for each of us last year might not be sitting on someone’s coffee table, proudly on display for all to see. “What a waste.”
“No sex toys,” I agree. “Something practical. And no clothes.”
My friends all nod and we dig into our meals. Lucy catches us up on the team’s spring schedule. It’s a building year for them, she says, and she’s implementing the Ted Lasso method of positivity to survive a calendar full of inevitable last place finishes. Skylar talks about the changes the Wizards are undergoing, mentioning the head coach might be out of a job soon if their losing record is any indication. Polly shares about the new roller coaster idea she had, inspired by her trip to China for a work conference.
Owning a business doesn’t afford me a lot of time to spend with my friends, and these weekly meetings help me feel like we’re still a strong presence in each other’s lives. Our friendship has withstood years of cross-country visits, different colleges, relationships that developed quickly then fizzled out, and enough crappy jobs to weather a lifetime–and we’re only in our early thirties.
Life’s just beginning.
“Anything else to share?” I ask, using my napkin to clear away the remnants of the pesto dish I devoured.
“No, but if Theo yanks you down a ladder again I better get a text message,” Lucy says. “Except don’t get on a ladder during a storm again.”
“Yes, Mom.” My eyes roll, but my hand finds hers across the table, giving her a squeeze of appreciation.
“One day when we’re old and the idea of sex disgusts us, ‘yanking you down a ladder’ is going to be a euphemism for something else,” Skylar adds.
“If you think I’m going to say no to sex at any point in my life, you don’t know me at all.”
“And that, Chandler Armstrong, is why I love you.”
TWENTY-FIVE
THEO
“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”I ask Bridget.
She looks up from the latkes recipe she’s been studying for the past ten minutes. A grater is in one of her hands, a half-peeled potato in the other. A couple of people from our group—Bridget, Felicity, Chandler, Lucas, and Bradley, surprisingly—are doing a test run of the meal they’re going to prepare the night of the judging. With Felicity’s guidance, they decided on a traditional Hanukkah spread: Brisket, potato latkes, and jelly donuts.
I came over to help supervise and eat the finished products, but I think I was looking for an excuse to spend time with Bridget. I brought Mac with me, too. She’s lounging on the loveseat, working on her homework, with Ziggy resting near her feet.
I’ve taken a spot on one of the stools toward the left end of the bar, where Bridget is working, making sure to stay out of the way. The grater she’s wielding looks dangerous, and she already almost took her finger off a few minutes ago.
“I can’t believe it’s in two days. This month is flying by, isn’t it? Normally my family all gets together, but this year is a little different. My parents left for a cruise yesterday. My brother is doing a road trip with his friends for a football game. My sister and her husband are spending it with his family. So I’ll be at my house.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah.”
She resumes her grating and I frown. The thought of Bridget—or anyone—alone on a holiday doesn’t sit right with me. A pressure forms in my chest, below my ribs. I’ve been that person by themselves before. It’s lonely. Isolating. Too quiet, even for me. You think about what everyone else might be doing while you’re there by yourself, loathing the silence.
