Page 71 of Enemies to French Kisses
“Me neither.”
“What’s on your mind?” I sit to face her. We agreed to sleep toes-to-toes because any other arrangement was weird.
“Oh,” she waves her hand which I can barely see in the single ray of moonlight. “It’s nothing compared to what you’ve been going through.”
“Tell me. I can use the distraction.” It also hits me that I’ve been totally self-absorbed. I have no idea what’s going on with my friends. I got lost in work and then lost in Marc…
Never again. That’s not the kind of friend I am. I’ve got to do better.
“It’s just…” Gina sighs. “All of y’all are getting so settled here. Meanwhile, I still haven’t found my feet.”
“Finding a job that suits you is tough.”
Gina got through high school, just barely. Book learning has never been her thing. She’s the world’s biggest sweetheart and learned how to tune a transmission in an afternoon. But there aren’t a lot of jobs for English-speaking auto mechanics in the city of lights. She’s better on social media than any of us, but without more qualifications behind her, the jobs she applied to didn’t even give her a second look. It’s totally unfair, and apparently quite French to look at a person on paper before the person in front of them. She’s bounced from one short-term gig to another since we got here.
She pulls her long hair to the side, her ‘tell’ when she’s feeling down. “I would love to have a steady job, meet people, you know? Have colleagues.”
“They aren’t all they’re cracked up to be.”
“But at least you have them.” She leans toward me. “Sometimes I wish I was someone else.”
“Gina!” I hiss. “Don’t you ever say that. You are sweeter than cherry pie, and all of us could stand to learn fromyou. There’s more to life than a job.”
“Until you can’t pay the bills.”
“Is it that bad?”
She looks around like someone might be watching. “I’ve eaten pot noodles for six days in a row.”
“Child.”
“I know.”
“You’re going to get scurvy. You need to eat better, balanced, or at the very least, some Vitamin C.”
“Don’t you see? I need a proper job if I’m going to eat better.”
My mind is running a mile a minute, trying to figure out what I can suggest, a solution, a fix to the problem, because that’s my specialty. But it’s late in the day after a massive allergic reaction, never mind a week of waiting on the man who I thoughthe thoughtI was his wife. My head is not working as it should, something I’d better change overnight because the Dutch aren’t going to wait for me to have my wits back.
“We’ll come up with something. And in the very short term, I’m giving you fruit and veggie money and I won’t accept no for an answer. You’ll pay me back when you can.”
Gina chokes on her words. “And if I can’t?”
“Girl, you will. You’re gonna land on your feet because you always have, and when you couldn’t, we were there to catch you. And you have always been there to catch us. It’s no different now.”
There’s a long pause in the darkness. I can make out a small smile in the corner of her lips, more timid and less sure than I’m used to seeing on Gina. “Thanks, Laura.”
“Don’t thank me, eat a carrot.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“That’s better.”
We both lie back down, and although my mind is a rainbow of thoughts, I feel more peaceful now. Here I’m thinking about my reputation, and Gina’s thinking about what she’s going to eat the next day. That sure puts it in perspective.
But I still hate Marc. I do. That funny feeling in my tummy when I remember the sensation of him sleeping peacefully in my arms?
All hate.
