Page 17 of Spit Screen

I tip my head.

“Not that! Ew! Addy! I don’t want to think about what Emma strokes.”

I snigger. “You said it, not me.”

“My point is, she’s not here to nurse your ego or your feelings, or you're—well—whatever it is that has you in pooper scooper mode. All I have is liquor.”

Tamara is joking—to a point. She’s always underestimated how much I rely on her for support and encouragement. When we moved to Los Angeles, spending time at the beach in Malibu or driving down Pacific Coast Highway became a staple for us. We’d search for a perfect spot to have tacos and margaritas, the warm breeze gently rustling the palm trees as we commiserated about our fledgling careers and lackluster love lives. Frustration was a constant companion for us, two naïve dreamers who couldn’t seem to overcome the roadblocks that littered our path.

Tamara has always been the one to push me out of my comfort zone. She’s the reason I crossed paths with Emma. If Tam hadn't insisted on attending the writers' event and dragging me along, I might never have met Emma.

“Addy?”

“Huh?”

“You disappeared for a minute.”

“Sorry. The beach sounds great.”

Tamara looks at me like I’ve grown a head, and I giggle. “

The beachwasyour idea,” I remind her.

“Yeah, but you usually balk at my ideas.”

Tam’s teasing me, but there is an underlying tinge of hurt to her comment. I know that. I realize I have often resisted Tam’s suggestions over the years. Whether I resist or not, her ideas almost always prove to be exactly what I need. But I also know that most people who know us view me as the more rational person, and Tam as impulsive. She can be impulsive, but Tamara has never beenreckless.The older we get, the more I see what Emma has always understood about me and Tam. We balance each other. I sigh.

“Addy, if you really don’t want to go to the beach?—”

“It’s not that,” I reply. “I guess I realize how much I miss this—us being close.” I expect Tam to roll her eyes and drag me through the door. Her response takes me by surprise.

“Yeah, me, too,” Tamara says. “I wish we could move Kansas next to Boston and drag LA along.”

I nod. “I think we should call an Uber.”

Tam grins. “I’ll let Chris know we’ll be late,” she says.

“Probably a good idea.”

It’s late when I finally crawl into bed to call Emma. “Hi.”

“Addy?”

“Sorry, it’s late.”

“Did you have a good time at the beach?” Emma asks.

“How did you know I was at the beach?”

“I talked to Chris this afternoon.”

“Oh,” I say. “Em?”

“What, love?”

“I miss Tam.”

“I know you do, Addy. I miss Tam and Christie, too.”

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