Page 6 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

I sniff again. “There’s nothing to spill,” I say. “I just miss you all. That’s it, I promise.”

She’s not buying it.

Act better, Rosie.

I shake my head and give her hand a squeeze. “I’m fine. I just need to get home more, that’s all.” That isn’t a lie. I do need to get home more. I need the three of them in my life.

How I’d survived this long without them is a mystery.

I glance over in time to see Taylor’s pained look in our direction. As predicted, Mrs. Copecki is still gabbing, only now she’s using her hands, which means she’s moved on to the “armchair medical advice” portion of her diatribe.

I nod at Taylor. “I think she needs a swoop and save.”

We all stand, silently and in unison, like we’re soldiers just called into battle, and I don’t miss how good it feels to be a part of this group again. To have people I fit in with. These three always accepted me, weirdness and all.

And they never, ever made me feel ridiculous for dreaming big dreams.

I make acquaintances easily, but friends are harder to find. There are always people to go out and do things with, but they’re nothing like these three are to me. It’s tiring to be in a world where every friend is potential competition and no one is ever telling the truth.

We all walk over to Taylor, each of us chatting very loudly about a random topic in voices that make what we’re saying soundvery important. I quickly realize we should’ve chosen a single topic to focus on because when Maya says, “I think he choked on a chicken bone. You have to come immediately,” I start giggling.

Taylor tries to extract herself from a confused-looking Mrs. Copecki, who stops her with a hand on her arm and says, “Cabbage leaves are the only thing that are going to help with your sore boobs, but don’t let that scare you off of breastfeeding. You need to find the nice big ones, ones that cover the whole—”

“Whoa, Mrs. Copecki!” I say, placing a hand on her shoulder. “It’s fantastic advice, but I read that, uh, peanut butter is way better... for the skin. Right, Mar?” I widen my eyes, hoping for a “yes, and...”

She doesn’t disappoint. “Oh yes, it’s all the rage with our generation. You can even add jelly on the other one.” And with divine timing that can only happen in the spur of the moment, we look at each other and simultaneously say, “PB&J boobs!”

This makes Maya laugh, which makes Taylor laugh, and leaves Mrs. Copecki stunned into silence (an achievement not seen since Reagan was president). We rush Taylor out of the room and onto the rooftop terrace, where we all collapse into each other in a fitof laughter. The kind that really makes no sense but somehow doesn’t have to.

Oh, how I’ve missed this. I ache from the laughing and the distance.

Maya can’t breathe. Taylor has tears streaming down her face. Marnie is doubled over, desperately clinging to me for support. I know I’m going to spend the rest of the day coughing and clearing my throat because that’s what happens when I laugh this hard.

Honestly, I’m probably laughing more than the situation calls for just because I need to laugh.

A stray thought hits me.

What if I tell them what the last seven years have really been like? They might have advice. They might not think I’m a disaster.

It might be just fine.

Then, another thought.

Their plans are working out brilliantly.

Mine are rife with rejections. They think I’m doing fantastic—and I can’t stand the thought of letting them down. Or of being the one they have to worry about. Or of being the failure.

So I stay quiet. Today isn’t about me anyway.

“PB&J? Did you two plan that?” Taylor shakes her head, still wiping tears from her cheeks.

“Hey, she stopped talking about cabbage leaves,” I say. “And, Mar, way to go all-in there. Impromptu speaking for the win!” I offer her a fist, and still bent over, she reaches up and bumps it.

Taylor giggles, then scans our little circle. “I wish we could ditch this shower and go hang out. We have so much to catch up on.”

“Marnie and Maya told me their big news,” I say. “Everyone is doing so, so great.” The tears are back, clouding my vision. I blink a million times to keep them from falling.

“Yeah, but you’ve told us almost nothing about what you’redoing, Rosie,” Marnie says. “Is there a show coming up? Should we get tickets? Or set our DVRs so we don’t miss some big debut?”

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