Page 4 of Your Two Lips
“I don’t want to be friends, ReeAnn.” He winked and left to take an order from another customer.
I raised my brows at ReeAnn.
“He’s a flirt. Any given summer weekend, ladies are bending over the bar to order their drinks. Boobs pushing together, silky hair falling off their shoulders. My hair is thick and kinky. Relaxers hurt, girl. I’m not his type.”
Those looks Jake gave her said she absolutely was.
“A Manhattan, huh?” Carrie asked.
I nodded. “Bourbon, sweet, and smooth all topped off with a literal cherry.” I swirled the fruit in the dark amber liquid.
“Well, when you put it that way, I need to try one.”
I acquired my taste for bourbon early in my drinking career at upscale parties and dinners with Joel’s family. The Carters were old Seattle money from the original timber and fishing industries. There was a street downtown with Joel’s maternal great-great-grandfather’s last name. Old money.
None of that annoying new money so popular these days. That’s me. My parents started in tech right after college when it was really taking off. Later, people called them all “Tech Millionaires.” Some retired in their thirties, living off stock and investments. Mom left to stay home with my brother Grayson, then me, but my dad kept working.
Apparently, there was a difference between my family’s money and old money. Those who inherited their wealth believed theirs was more legitimate than wealth earned in the recent tech boom. Like the old-money wealthy were more sophisticated, following society’s rules.
In my experience, the old-money wealthy followed their own rules. I’d put up with so much entitlement from Joel’s family. The idea of being seen as one of them made me nauseous.
“How’s it going at the spa? You can tell me the truth.” Carrie leaned in front of ReeAnn to whisper-shout conspiratorially.
“She’s incredible,” ReeAnn said with her signature kindness.
I blushed at the compliment. “I met ReeAnn at a spa in Whistler this winter when she ended up on my massage table.”
“I don’t ski.” ReeAnn wrinkled her nose. “After the yoga retreat, I spent a couple days checking out the village. I popped into a spa, and Emily worked her magic.”
I wiggled my fingers in the air. “I fell in love with the area on vacation, so I stayed awhile on a temporary work visa.”
They didn’t need to know, but Whistler, British Columbia in western Canada, turned out to be where I had regrouped after the hysterectomy and subsequent depression. I was on a break from working as a medical massage therapist at a hospital. I had finished therapy, and my antidepressant medication was stable and helping. Whistler was where I finally found peace.
“I could use a massage,” Carrie added. “Between sitting at a computer all day and mountain biking again, my shoulders are so tight.”
She biked? Awesome.
“What’s your pain level, one to ten?” I asked.
“My shoulders, maybe a four. My right forearm, that’s a five or six.”
“May I?” I reached out toward Carrie’s arm.
ReeAnn stood. “You do that. I need to run to the restroom.” She lowered her voice. “Do either of you have a tampon? I used my last one earlier, and there is no telling what the boys stock in the machine.”
She glanced between Carrie and me. I froze. I hadn’t needed tampons for more than a year, and the reminder of my loss was like a sucker punch.
I took a deep breath and recalled the tools I learned in therapy. I didn’t try to ignore or excuse the sadness. I let it be, deciding I valued time with these women, and I would focus on enjoying myself rather than on the disappointment.
“Here you go.” Carrie handed the tampon to ReeAnn and then reached out her sore arm.
Using my thumbs, I felt for the deeper muscles. “There’s some tightness. Or the forearm pain could be referred from your shoulders. Massage could help. Rest and heat, too. If it doesn’t feel better soon, check in with a physical therapist. Your chair and desk configuration at work may need to be adjusted.” I paused. “And check the seat height of your bike. Make sure you don’t carry your weight too far forward, straining your shoulders.”
“I didn’t think about my bike seat. Thanks. Cheers to you.” Carrie raised her glass. “Do you bike?”
“I do. I started in Whistler, but I haven’t been on any trails around here yet.”
Despite taking some crap from a couple of guys about ruining their boys-only outings, I loved mountain biking. I was fit and pretty damn good at it. So, I ignored them.
