Page 3 of The Beat of My Heart
Where Lanie is a six-foot blonde goddess, I am pushing five-foot-two on a good day with chocolate brown hair. We could not be more opposite. With my emerald green eyes boring a hole into her crystal-clear blue ones, I start mumbling again. I do that when I’m uncomfortable. Speak my innermost thoughts out loud. It’s not something I can control no matter how hard I try.
“Why do you insist on this shopping trip? I’m only going to Boston for a conference, which, by the way, is totally unnecessary. I probably know more than everyone giving presentations combined.” I say, not bragging but telling her the God’s honest truth. My IQ is higher than most… they say it’s up there at genius level. The only good it does is give me an excuse for my rambling, sometimes.
“Why, why, why do I let her talk me into these things?” I’m trying to take the shoes off when Lanie’s fit of laughter lets me know I spoke again. “Why can’t I keep those thoughts to myself? It's fine when I’m with you, but honestly, at 24, this is getting embarrassing. Thank fuck I don’t have to work in an office very often, I wouldn't be able to hold down a position anywhere.”
I used my giant brain to land a job before I had even finished college. Since school work came easy for me, I started at my company full-time the summer of my junior year while also finishing my third degree. I became so good at it, in fact, that when I said I was going home to Vermont after graduation, they made me an offer to work remotely. It’s been the best thing possible for my overcrowded mind.
Shaking her head, Lanie pulls me the rest of the way to standing, “Keep the shoes on; you need to practice wearing them.”
“Listen, I know I was the one complaining about finding a guy and being horny as hell, but I really don’t know that I need to put so much effort into a one-night stand,” I tell her as I continue to prance around my room. “Shouldn’t I just be able to go down to the Dog-House and pick someone?”
“Ugh, Jules. When is the last time you actually set foot in the Dog-House? Just because they sell cheap drinks doesn’t mean you get to be a cheap date. No, absolutely not. Plus, do you really want to hook up with a townie who has known you since birth? Running to the grocery store will become an exercise in the walk of shame. You don’t want that, do you?”
Mumbling again, I say, “Easy for you to say, you only have to sneeze and you have guys lining up to wipe your snot.”
Lanie snorts, “You certainly have a way with words, Jules. I already told you, I have no use for dating. I just want to work and grow old with you. Love is overrated, anyway, I think.”
I know Lanie is still a closet romantic, but her childhood sucked and has left her a little tainted as an adult. Growing up, she had GG, her grandmother, and my parents, who all love her like their own. Unfortunately, Lanie’s mother liked to use her as a prop, so when she decided she needed Lanie around, there was no telling what kind of abuse she would be subject to.
“Lanie, it’s September, in Vermont. I am not walking around the mall in three-inch heels. It is just not going to happen.”
If you have never been to Vermont in the fall, first, you’re missing out because it is breathtaking. Second, prepare yourself for any season because one minute it could be seventy degrees, the next minute, it could be snowing.
“You know the saying… if you don’t like the weather in New England, give it five minutes? Yeah, well, I will stick with sneakers if you insist on shopping,” I tell her.
Sighing and dropping onto my bed, Lanie looks up at me with puppy dog eyes. “Jules, this is going to be fun, okay? I promise! We will just get you a few stylish suits to wear at the conference and some super sexy outfits to wear to dinner and drinks.” She can’t help but wink at me.
Rolling my eyes while heading for the door, I give in, “Fine, let's get this over with, I’ll drive.”
“Jules, my car isn’t that bad, you know?” Lanie says, giving me the side-eye.
Without looking at her, I say, “I know, but mine is newer, and since we have to travel for two hours to get to a freaking mall, we might as well put the miles on mine.”
Lanie is a social worker. She graduated second in our class, just behind me, at Boston University. She always knew she wanted to help kids, ones like her that had a difficult start in life. As you can imagine, that doesn’t pay very well, and as much as I love her, I’d rather not ride for hours in her ten-year-old Corolla. Instead, we hop into my lovely little blue Volvo.
If Lanie only knew how much money I pay every month in restitution, she’d probably faint.
“Fine,” she says, “but I’m in charge of the music.”
“Awesome, Madonna and Mumford for four hours,” I reply sarcastically but secretly loving that we will blast music and sing at the top of our lungs like we are thirteen again.
“Who are you kidding? You love it and you know it! You’ll be singing along to the beat with your own words like you always do,” Lanie laughs.
She isn’t wrong. As much as I love music, I’ve never gotten the lyrics right.I like my versions and I’ll sing them if I want to,I tell myself, stifling a laugh. I know it drives everyone around me nuts, but it’s another thing about myself I can’t control.
“I like my Julia-tized lyrics better, anyway. It’s not my fault you can’t pick up the song from my perfectly executed melody,” I tell her.
“Jules, no one on earth could name a song you sing even with your perfect rhythm,” she says, rolling her eyes. “And if you do happen to find someone, they just might be your soulmate.”
* * *
“Holy geez,Jules. I think we got stuck behind every leaf-peeper on Route 2,” Lanie states the obvious while getting out of the car and stretching.
“Three fucking hours to buy some slutty clothes,” I grumble.
Coming up beside me, Lanie hooks her arms with mine, “I didn’t say anything about slutty clothes, Julia. I just think the one suit you have for the random meetings you attend in person will not cut it for an entire week, especially if you’re planning on a little debauchery happening.”
“Ugh, I guess she is right. I do need more than one suit,” I gripe.
