Page 78 of Sure Shot
And I suppose there’s a silver lining to breaking up with Tank. Now I don’t have to tell my brother that I’ve been dating a hockey player.
I do, however, tell my girlfriends. Over margaritas, I fill Becca and Georgia in on the fact that I’m in love with him, but that we are not together.
It’s a good decision, too. Because the moment I share my pain, these two circle the wagons. Every week they invite me out somewhere new. They’ve more or less adopted me, and I am grateful.
That’s how I come to sit one weeknight in a brand-new massage chair at Becca’s newly opened salon. Georgia and Becca flank me on either side. And at my feet, a nail technician fills a foot bath with ginger-scented water. Meanwhile, the salon manager hands me a flute of Prosecco.
“Thank you!” I say as cheerfully as I can. “I think I could become a convert, here.”
“See?” Georgia says. “I love getting a pedicure, but it doesn’t have a thing to do with the way my nails look.”
“I get it,” I say, relaxing against the leather. “I was a doubter like you. But I’m coming around.” A sip of bubbly wine helps, too. Not that my mood is easy to improve these days.
“That’s why you have me, babycakes,” Becca adds. “To save you both from a lifetime of imperfect toes.”
“I’m just here for the foot massage and the wine,” Georgia says with a shrug.
“And the gossip,” Becca adds. “Don’t overlook my true purpose in life.”
“I like how you think.” This is just what I need, too. Soft lighting, classical guitar music on the sound system, and the company of women. “Remind me how you decided to buy this place? It’s so pretty now.” The glass tiles sparkle beneath the paint job and the new upholstery.
“We used to come here in the middle of the day,” Georgia explains. “When work was stressful, we’d run in here on our lunch break, because we knew we’d be alone.”
“I mean, can you imagine hockey players coming here?” Becca adds, sipping her wine. “It was always our little oasis.”
“But that was before Becca turned this place into anactualoasis,” Georgia adds. “The old decor was a little shabby. We didn’t mind. But this is so much better. Becca picked out all that glass tile herself.”
“You’ve got game. But it’s risky to buy a place that’s going out of business.” Although it seems to be doing fine tonight. When I walked through the door, every manicure table up front was occupied.
“Yes and no,” Becca says. “There was a citywide scandal that shut down a whole bunch of nail salons. Apparently they weren’t paying their workers a fair wage. When I told Nate how upset I was at the loss of our favorite spot, he didn’t even hesitate. ‘Buy it,’ he said. ‘Renovate. Raise the prices and reopen. You can hire back everyone who worked there at a fair price.’”
“Genius,” I say as the technician eases my feet into the warm, bubbling water.
“I’m not used to thinking like a billionaire,” Becca says. “But Nate feels good about investing in this neighborhood. And it doesn’t even feel like an indulgence, because I have nine people on the payroll, here, including the new manager, who’s a single mom. Ooh! Xue!” She waves to a young woman. “Over here!”
The young woman sashays toward us in impossibly high heels—the kind that I could never walk in. “Would you like a strawberry dipped in dark chocolate?” she asks, leaning down to offer each of us a treat.
“Oh my goodness.” Georgia reaches for one. “Becca’s influence is everywhere.”
“Damn straight.” Becca takes a berry, too.
As I reach for mine, I’m hit with the Cinderella tingles. This is my life—pedicures and bubbly wine. I’m still lonely for Tank, but I refuse to work late into the night, hunched over my phone. The five-year plan is back on. I can nurture female friendships without a man. I’m in a good place.
Tonight, anyway.
“Becca for president” I say as I bite the juicy end off the strawberry. I can feel my sadness lifting by a tiny amount. “Are you sure that bright purple toes are a good idea, though?” The technician is shaking the bottle of polish that Becca chose for me.
“Purple is the right move,” Becca says seriously. “No boring toes on my watch. Plus, it’s the Bruisers color. I had that shade specially mixed. Now I need Georgia to tell me how worried I should be about the upcoming game against Dallas. Did practice go okay today?”
“It went fine. We’re going to beat Phoenix this weekend. And that will build confidence before Dallas.”
“You’ve got Castro back in the lineup,” I say between bites of strawberry and dark chocolate. Castro had a muscle pull, but it turned out to be no big deal. “The doctor cleared him.”
“Excellent. That deserves a toast. To healthy men and smooth ice!” Becca angles her glass first toward mine and then Georgia’s. We all toast.
“Crikey is healthy, too,” Georgia adds. “And…” She turns to me, hesitating. “Am I allowed to talk about hot, grumpy defensemen?”
“Go ahead,” I say. “Hot, grumpy defensemen are my living.”
