Page 29 of Friendshipped
“I don’t think I want to do this after all,” I tell Felicia.
Mom comes into the kitchen. “What don’t you want to do?” she asks. “Besides sit through lunch with your family, evidently.”
“Sorry, Mom,” Felicia and I say in unison.
“And sorry again about the mess,” I say, grabbing the towel and bowl she’s carrying.
We follow Mom back to the dining table. When she’s out of earshot, Felicia whispers, “Tell him yes!”
I shake my head. I’m not sure I’m cut out for this. But what are my choices? I’m not meeting eligible guys here in Bordeaux, or even in Corn Corners. And like Felicia said, I’m not getting any younger. Plus, I need to get Trevor out of my system. I’m almost positive nothing will cure me of my feelings for Trevor until I fall hard for another man.
After lunch, Felicia and I clear the table and volunteer to wash the dishes. It’s the least we can do after the mid-meal debacle with my phone. Mom and Dad move into the family room with Memaw and Aunt Glenda. The low indecipherable babble of the television filters through to the kitchen.
I’m handing Felicia a serving platter to dry when she says, “I made you an appointment with Laura to get your hair done this afternoon.”
“How did you do that?” I ask. “It’s Sunday. All of Bordeaux basically closes down until six tomorrow morning. The Dippity Do doesn’t offer Sunday afternoon appointments unless there’s a special event in town.”
“Laura’s one of your closest friends,” Felicia explains.
“I know who my closest friends are,” I say, turning off the water and grabbing a dishtowel to dry my hands. “I don’t know what that has to do with a spontaneous hair appointment.”
“I may have mentioned the online dating thing.”
“You what?” I ask, taking a breath. “I’m not going to live this down.”
Felicia seems to have forgotten the basic truths of life in a small town. Anything you do is (1) common knowledge and (2) never forgotten. I had hoped I could keep this little experiment between myself, Trevor, Felicia and Jayme.
And, yes, Laura’s one of my closest friends. We bonded when we traded my applesauce for her hostess snack cake in second grade at school lunch. I totally got the better end of that deal. Twinkie for the win.
Laura is one of those people who has no filter. She lives unapologetically. Her choice in clothes is loud, her music: loud, her voice: also, loud. She’s funny and forthright and pretty much boy crazy. She’s been that way since elementary school.
Of all the unbelievable things in the world, Laura and our friend Rob dated in high school. You couldn’t find a more unlikely match. Rob’s pretty reserved unless he’s around people he knows really well and decides he wants to crack open his shell and let fun Rob out to play.
Laura on the other hand chose to be a hairdresser and announced to her family and friends at high-school graduation that she wanted to spend her life making women feel good about themselves—by way of haircuts and color.
“I’m going to Italian with Trevor tonight,” I explain to Felicia. “I can’t be late. It’s a work thing. We have to drive to Columbus to try out this place our boss heard about.”
“All the better,” Felicia says, undeterred by any obstacle as usual. “You can practice dating while you’re out with him. I’ll give him some tips.”
“You will not give him tips,” I say. “Oh, my sweet baby pickles.”
“I’m not saying he’ll be your date,” she says. “We all waited for that collision of the stars to happen and I’ve frankly given up.”
“Collision of the stars?” I ask, knowing I should leave well enough alone.
“You know? Boy and girl grow up together, basically know everything about one another, go off to college, realize they were meant to be, come home, fall in love, have adorable babies and live happily ever after in the small Ohio town of Bordeaux.”
“Me and Trev?” I ask.
I’ve heard plenty ofyou two aren’t?andhave you ever?over the years from strangers or people who don’t know us well, but I never considered my own family having us shipped. I’m not sure what I’m feeling right now, especially because the scenario Felicia just spelled out would be the fulfillment of my most secret fantasy in a nutshell.
“When do you leave to head back to Covington?” I ask Felicia.
I’m suddenly eager to put some distance. She’s been great—really better than I had projected in a lot of ways—but I need space from the micromanagement and scrutiny of my life.
“Ha ha,” she says, totally catching onto me and my motives. “I’m leaving before dinner. Don’t worry. But I’ve got remote access to your dating profile, so I’ll be checking on it even when I’m back across the river in Kentucky.”
“You what?” I ask, my mouth open a little and my face frozen.
