Page 39 of Any Girl But You
I slip into the fluffiest, bubbliest, warmest bath of my life. Fat iridescent suds surround me. I flick at a few before I rest my eyes and sigh. What a week. After the festivities at the barn last weekend, and Zoey returning to work, I spent the next five days cleaning from the event, pricing all the items the kids and church ladies made, and setting up the shop. Zoey’s dad found these amazing antique wagons at Zoey’s grandmother’s place which are perfect to hold the nonbreakable bulbs I ordered from a vendor. Then yesterday, Frankie spent all day building the Santa photo op station, complete withMerry Christmassigns, a red-drape background, and oversized holiday gifts and plastic candy canes.
And I spent every single day thinking of Zoey and missing her so much that it hurts. In a surprising and delightful turn of events, Zoey and I still chat every single day, often multiple times. When she has downtime between customers, or late at night, or even getting ready for the day, we’re talking. And still, when we hang up, I miss her immediately.
I dip a washcloth into the warm water and set it on my forehead and eyes. The two-week countdown is on, and my nerves are gnawing at me. The precut trees will be delivered nextFriday, the shop is close to completion, and I have the entire temporary crew hired and their W-2 paperwork filled out.
And yet, something is missing.
I’m sharing these things with Zoey as a friend. But I want to share them with her as more than a friend. My feelings for her have only intensified in her absence, not lightened, and everything that I ran from, everything I thought I didn’t want, the life I thought wasn’t for me, I realize it is. I am falling for Zoey. In the hardest way. And I need to tell her.
I think. I don’t know. Ugh, why isn’t this easy? And what does “more than friends” look like? Marriage? That’s her goal, and I still don’t think it’s mine. And she shouldn’t settle. Anyone who says it’s easy, or to just open up, or to communicate with Zoey, has clearly never had this. Not only is the deep impending doom of rejection hanging over my head—which I’ve never had before and feels absolutely terrible—if I tell her how I feel, and she doesn’t feel the same, I’ll have ruined it all. So no, it’s not that easy to just pick up the phone and confess everything and hope for the best.
My phone rings and I glance at it.Zoey. Any other person in the world, I’d send to voicemail. But I could be doing almost anything and want to hear her voice. “Hey,” I say, grateful for waterproof phones. I tap the speaker then lower myself back into the water.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
Thinking about you. “I’m in the tub.”
“Are you singing ‘Kiss’ by Prince?” she asks, and I hear pots banging in the background.
“Um… no, why?”
The pots stop banging. “If you don’t catch this reference, I’m out. Seriously. Our friendship will cease to exist from this point forward.Pretty Woman? Bathtub scene.”
“Please don’t leave me,” I say through a giggle. “But I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Hopeless.” The banging stops and is replaced with shuffling. “You have that gorgeous hair just like Julia Roberts in that movie. And in that scene, she was singing off-key in a bubble bath… You know what? Never mind. I’m adding this to our movie-night list.”
A few weeks ago, Zoey and I created a movie-night wish list. Along with summer day trip, best burger search, and concert wish lists. “Want to get together tomorrow and start tackling that movie list?” I ask. “I’ll be really nice and let you choose first, even though I won our rock, paper, scissors war fair and square.”
“That’s super generous of you considering you cheated,” she says with what I know is her teasing half smirk, half grin from when she’s giving me shit. “Actually, I can’t tomorrow night. I have plans. How about Sunday?”
My ears perk up. Plans? What plans? With someone? Maybe family, but if so, why not say? Zoey is never cagey about the details of her life, from what she had for breakfast to customer stories, but she’s never mentionedplans. “Plans?” I try to add a smile to my tone, but fail. “Anything fun?”
“I’m not sure fun is the right word, but I’ll let you know. I’m, uh, I’m actually meeting Josie for dinner, if you can believe it.”
I nearly drop my phone into the mound of bubbles. What are the chances that there is another person, like maybe a cousin or aunt or something named Josie? Even surrounded by heated suds, my neck tightens. “No way, really?” I squeak, then clear my throat.
This is not what I want to ask. I want to ask if they’re getting back together, and if she thinks she’ll kiss Josie, and if it goes well, will they go back to Zoey’s loft? Will they laugh and hold hands, and will Zoey hug her the way she hugs me? I can’t handle everything tearing through me right now, ripping mefrom the inside. I don’t want Zoey to have dinner with Josie. I want her to have dinner with me.Dammit. I push my wet thumb against my forehead. If I lost my chance with Zoey because of being too scared to admit my feelings, I will never forgive myself. But if I confess now, it will absolutely be seen as a manipulation tactic. And honestly, if I dig deep enough, which I hate doing, it would be a manipulation tactic. And I refuse to do it.
I want to ask more. Did Josie ask her, or did Zoey ask Josie? Is this a getting-back-together kind of thing, or a friends thing, or what? Andwhy? Why after two years is Zoey meeting with Josie? Maybe they own property together and need to chat about a sale. Maybe there is a death in the family and Josie is here for a funeral. Maybe Josie wants Zoey back.
Fuck.Josie wants Zoey back.
I lift myself a few inches from the water and inhale a breath. “Where are you two going to go? Somewhere fun?”
The sound of Zoey sipping something comes through the phone. “Orchard’s.”
Orchard’s. This does not give me the intel I need to properly discern if this is a date. The place is right off of Main Street, more upscale than a diner, but not as upscale as some of the tourist places. It’s not dark and overly romantic, but it’s also not family friendly and they do have a full wine list. Ugh. Nope, I’m gleaning nothing.
“Nice,” I say. Am I coming off as casual? Carefree? Unaffected? I think so. Even though I’m anything but. God dammit. Zoey’s going on a date with her ex. “At least you’ll get some good pie out of it.”
Zoey giggles. “True. But I swear after working at the bakery all these years, the last thing I want to do is go somewhere else to have treats. Well, that aren’t mine. I’m too critical and don’t want to judge these nice people.”
I slide a little lower and the water sloshes around me. My heart is hurting, my shoulders are stiff. Everything that is not supposed to happen in a luxurious bath is happening. “So, do you know what she wants?” I really shouldn’t ask, but I can’t help it. “Do you think she wants to get back together?”
“Who knows?” she says with what sounds a little like a chuckle, but it’s not enough to read into.
Zoey still hasn’t mentioned that she read the letters. The image of those lovely yellow-and-blue envelopes scattered across her table the night we shared that kiss is burned in my brain. Zoey is always honest, and I know it’s illogical and not fair, but I feel like she kept this from me.
