Page 3 of When It's Us
My best friend’s eyes go wide. “Seriously?”
“Mm-hm. And the kicker? Josh and Vanessa propositioned me the other day out on the driveway.”
Wren snorts. “How do you always manage to get yourself into these kinds of things?”
My shoulders shake with laughter, and I swallow a mouthful of beer. “I know you’re not referring to the time that pharmacy tech hit on me while I had the stomach flu. I was young and flirty and twenty years younger.”
“You had bedhead and were wearing pajamas with dancing bananas on them. I’m pretty sure you hadn’t showered in days.”
“I rocked the hell out of those banana pants, and you know it.”
“You also had a bit of dried vomit on your top,” she deadpans.
I chuckle again, shrugging a shoulder with a grin. “It’s a gift.”
We’ve been like this since college—Wren was my roommate in our off-campus apartment, and somehow, we’ve stayed tight through moves, marriages, babies, and now, this strange late-thirties reboot I seem to be in.
After our laughter dies off, I see the question forming in her eyes before she even says it.
“So tell me how you’re really doing?”
I shrug. “I’m fine.”
Clearly, I’m not.
Our twins, Tate and Jordan, were two when Peter and I divorced. Nearly four years later, Peter’s remarried with a new baby, two stepsons, and a house in Seattle.
He’d asked for two weeks in Seattle with the boys, and of course I wanted them to have time with their dad, step-siblings, and new baby brother. So I kissed them a million times, packed their tiny suitcases, and wrangled our shared-custody beagle, Baxter—who’s making the permanent move—into Peter’s Lexus, then waved goodbye like it didn’t tear me in half.
The truth is, I cried the second they turned the corner. Not only because I missed them already—but because it felt like one more reminder that Peter’s moved on. That they’re starting to have a life that doesn’t include me. And maybe that’s what really gutted me.
Wren shakes her head. “You’re not getting off that easily.”
“I’m hanging up and calling my mother,” I threaten.
That makes her laugh. She knows there is no one I would rather talk to less than Darlene Chapman.
I know I’m being a baby, but this is the first time I’ve spent more than a weekend away from them since birth.
I keep telling myself it’s only two weeks.
This first week, I’ll be here alone—doing my best not to spiral—before flying out to Timber Forge to visit Wren and the Hayes family.
Peter is bringing the boys to join me at the end of their trip, so we’ll have one full week together in Timber Forge before heading home to California.
But I’ve never been great at talking about my feelings, and Wren and I have stayed close even with the distance between us. Plus, I hate to worry her, especially now that she’s a new mom. I have firsthand experience with how exhausting being a twin mom can be.
I shake my head ruefully. “I’m okay, so you can stop worrying about me.”
She studies me for a few beats, opens her mouth, then closes it.
“You look like a fish,” I tease, but I know she’s weighing her next words.
“Listen, I’m gonna say something and I’m only saying it because I love you and think you need to hear it. Okay?”
“Is it gonna piss me off?” I joke. Sort of.
Wren shrugs. “Maybe. But you didn’t let me sit around and wallow in my indecision about Hank and Timber Forge when I wanted to.”
