Page 89 of Lemon Crush

Why had I told her that?

You always told her everything.

Yes, when I was thirteen and in the throes of puppy love. Back then, I mostly loved the fact that he knew who Prince was, liked to read and actually paid attention when I spoke—the three things guaranteed to impress a quirky teenage girl.

More recently, it was the lazy lion vibe he gave off. Like he’d been lounging around for years, calm and unaffected, but when he was ready to pounce? Look out.

I barely had to use my imagination to finish the story I’d been writing. The one I’d been letting him read spicy snippets of in bed. I was basically a sex stenographer now, using my recovery periods while he was at work to transcribe our dirty activities, take muscle relaxing baths and hydrate. At the rate we were going, I’d be writing a second book before I knew it.

“Is it weird that I want to say good for you? And talk about how you might be a natural manifester, because you used to write his name all over your notebooks while imagining your wedding, and now you’relimping?”

Of course she’d remember that.

“I’d rather talk about the fact that you had me drive over an hour to stand in this hot parking lot when we could be eating chili cheese fries and recovering from our yoga session.”

“Sure. We can change the subject. For now. Welcome to the goal we’re manifesting today.”

We rounded the side of the building and I stopped short when I finally saw what all the buzz was about.

“These are go-karts,Bernadette.”

“Oh, come on,” she said, waving her hand to indicate the entire area. “I took you all around the paddock and you can literally see the real track we’ll be driving on in October from where we’re standing.”

Itwasnice to finally have an image in my mind. To be honest, it was giving me all sorts of ideas I wanted to write down. Or it was until she started directing me to an actual activity.

“And now we’re literally seeing go-karts. Tell me you weren’t planning for us to drive one.”

“I can’t tell you that, and they call it karting here. Look at them, August. These are not the go-karts of our misspent youth.”

She wasn’t wrong about that. They were small but intimidating. Low to the ground, and from what I could see of the drivers that were currently on the track, very fast.

Everyone out there was wearing helmets and gloves. No one was playfully bumping into each other. These were serious drivers. Those were serious turns. And, “This is a seriously bad idea. I’ve never driven with a helmet before.”

“Exactly my point.” Bernadette pushed her sunglasses down to look me in the eye. “Would you rather the first time you did that be in a car by yourself? Or in this safe space with your oldest friend?”

“Safe space, my ass. Speaking of my ass, can we even fit in those?”

“There are grown men out there, twice our size. Stop stalling.”

I lifted my phone and snapped a picture of the track. “I’m sending this to Chick later. After he’s forgiven me for The Betrayal.”

“He sounds as dramatic as the rest of our menfolk,” Bernie said wryly. “When he gets here, he’ll fit right in.”

She led me to the man who seemed to be low-key in charge of the small group waiting to race. He took our money and made us sign a waiver releasing the track and everyone associated with it from all liability in the event I injured or killed myself behind thewheel (Because obviously it would be me who did that, not Bernie). After he checked our helmets—mine was plain white, while Bernie’s was fuchsia with a golden lightning bolt on the side—he gave us a rundown on kart operation, basic racing techniques, track rules, and safety protocols.

I was happy to hear that deliberately bumping other vehicles was considered dangerous and would be grounds for being asked to leave, but by the time he was done, I was even more nervous.

He set us off to the side and told us we’d be in the next group of drivers, which left us with five minutes to kill.

“That looks faster than forty-five miles an hour,” I told Bernie.

She put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a squeeze. “You can start out as slow as you want. It’ll be fun. Trust me.”

I wanted to, but my stomach was a little uncertain about this entire outing. At least it was mid-day on a Tuesday and not that crowded. There were maybe ten people on and around this track that didn’t work here. I always liked fewer witnesses when I was planning to embarrass myself.

“Sam would have loved this,” Bernie said.

“She actually didn’t like go-karts. She was more of a roller coaster kind of girl.”

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