Chapter 20

 

 

 

 

Gia

 

The bar is perfectly loud and jam-packed to the nines. The walls are embellished with creepy orange lights, not-scary-at-all masks, cotton cobwebs and plastic skeletons. Halloween is not even for another two weeks, but it’s the official start of the season and everything around us is illuminated in a holiday festive glow.

And the worst part about that? It reminds me of Finn because Halloween is his birthday.

“So your mom actually had this new guy there? Like, waiting to meet you and shit?” Ophelia asks me as she pours me a very safe glass of red wine. Ever since my night of drunken debauchery, Ophelia and I have become friends. I don’t know if it’s the bartender in her, but she likes to ask questions and she’s a sensational listener. I haven’t told her yet, but I think that’s one of her greats in addition to concocting the perfect cocktail.

“Yeah,” I say, taking a sip of my wine. “She totally ambushed me with him. There was no talk. No, how do you feel about this. She was all, Gia meet my ‘man friend,’ George Santiago.” I put air quotes around the word. I haven’t mentioned Finn came with me or anything that happened–or didn’t happen–after. I’m not ready to share that yet and it’s already been a week since my birthday.

Chloe lets out a derisive snort. “She actually used the term, man friend?”

“Yup,” I scoff, vacillating back and forth between them. “Because that’s what happens when you’re over fifty. You no longer have boyfriends, you have man friends.”

“Is he nice at least?”

I shrug, running my finger along the stem of my glass. “I guess so. He seemed to make her happy and that’s all that really matters. He’s a retired hedge funder so he’s got plenty of money. They were talking about going on a cruise together over Christmas.”

“Wow, that’s something,” Chloe says, astonished, and all I can do is nod.

“What did I miss?” Monique asks, dropping down into the seat next to me.

“Gia was just telling us about her mom’s new man friend,” Ophelia offers with a shrug.

“Can I have a glass of whatever she’s drinking, please” Monique points to my wine. “And what the hell is a man friend?”

“What it sounds like. A boyfriend for cougars.”

I glare at Chloe. “My mother is not a cougar.”

“She’s not,” Monique agrees. “A cougar is a woman who wants sex with a younger man. Not someone her own age. This new man friend is her own age, right?”

“Yes, and holy hell I cannot believe I’m actually having a conversation about my mother’s sex life. That’s the sort of shit that puts people in therapy.”

“Should I get a tattoo?” Chloe asks out of nowhere, her eyes focused on Ophelia’s colorful arms.

“That depends on what you would get,” I hedge.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it.”

Ophelia snickers. “Then I wouldn’t have something permanently inked on your body until you do. I’ll be right back, I gotta go help those people out down there.”

Ophelia saunters off and the three of us watch her go for a second. “Is it weird that we have a non-medically related friend?” Chloe asks.

“No,” Monique says. “I think it’s healthy. All we ever talk about is women’s vaginas and babies. And men. It’s like we have nothing else going on in our lives.”

“Because we don’t. We work and we go out with men. What the hell else is there?”

Monique and I both examine Chloe as we consider this. Is that what our lives have become? Work and men. “We need a hobby,” I say with a scowl.

“No time for one,” Monique yawns.

“Says the girl having regular sex with the hot ED doc.”

Monique smiles, her dark eyes twinkling. “Speaking of hot ED docs…” she trails off and I know what’s coming next so I put up my hand, stopping her before she can go there.

“Nothing’s happening and it never will.”

“He told her he wasn’t interested even though he clearly is,” Chloe adds unhelpfully. “But they also haven’t seen each other since that night and it’s what, like a week now?”

My eyes train down to the bar top. I don’t want to tell them about my birthday night and that has me feeling guilty for hiding it from my best friends.

Monique doesn’t look surprised and I wonder if Finn confided in Mike who then confided in Monique. That thought makes me frown even deeper. I haven’t mentioned the present Finn gave me either. But pretty soon, I’m going to have to secure someone to come with me to the football game. I’m holding out even though I know it’s pointless, and fucking mental, to do so.

“Well,” Monique says, turning to face us. “Michael says Finn hasn’t had a girlfriend in years, never dates and hardly ever has sex.”

“What?” That’s Chloe and me together.

“Yeah,” she nods with big wide eyes. “He wouldn’t tell me why or anything and said he’s not celibate or a monk, but I think he’s–”

“Vagina phobic,” Chloe once again feels the need to add her two cents in.

“The only time I’ve ever seen him pick up a woman to bring home, he told her–more than once I think–that it wouldn’t go beyond that night,” Ophelia chimes back in. “She still went home with him because, well, look at him. He’s fucking gorgeous and who wouldn’t want a night with that, but still.” Ophelia leans over, looking directly at me with a smile. Right. Who wouldn’t want a night with him? I’m drowning in irony. “You’re the first woman I’ve seen him show interest in since I met him.”

“He’s not interested,” I say almost out of habit.

I feel eyes and looks being thrown all around me, but I choose to focus on my wine instead. Wine doesn’t completely wreck your world with provocative words, earth-shattering kisses and thoughtful presents. In fact, the only thing wine does is make you feel good. And warm.

As long as you don’t have too much of it. Then it might make you sick and eventually screw up your liver. Okay, I need to stop. None of this is productive.

“No more about Finn, please. I really don’t want to talk about him. Ever again.”

“I’ll be right back,” Ophelia says again. “This whole having to work during girl talk is becoming a nuisance.”

“Michael told me he loves me.” Chloe and I turn in synchrony to Monique who is beaming. “He’s taking me to the Bahamas in February. I think he might propose to me then.”

“You’re not even living together.”

She shakes her head with a smile. “No. But in two weeks, we will be. He asked me last night.”

“Holy shit,” I gasp. “Congratulations. That’s amazing.” I hug my very happy friend who lets out a little squeal of excitement.

“You bitch,” Chloe says as she gets up and hugs her. “I’m so freaking jealous.” I smack her arm. “What? Mo knows I’m over the moon for her.” She turns to Monique. “You do know that, right?”

“Yes,” Monique sighs. “You were just…being you.”

“Exactly.” She glowers at me. “She gets me. Oh god, please tell me you’re moving in with him and he’s not moving into your shoebox apartment.”

Monique rolls her eyes. “Of course, I’m moving in with him. He’s been an attending for years and has a really nice place not too far from the hospital. Anyway, I expect you ladies to help me move and then once I’m settled in, we’ll throw a party or something.”

“Is it weird that I don’t feel like we’re grown-up enough for this?”

“Yes,” Monique, Ophelia and I all say in unison.

We leave the bar shortly after. Monique is anxious to get home to her new love. Chloe is meeting up with a guy she’s been quietly dating. Ophelia had to work as the bar became increasingly crowded. And me? I’m walking in the direction of my building, but I’m sort of dragging my heels about it.

That box is still taking up residence on my coffee table. That perfect rose in a small bud vase next to it, even though I wanted to drown the thing in bleach. I couldn’t. It’s not the rose’s fault.

What I really need is to pull myself out of him.

What I really need is a distraction.

What I really need is–to not trip over my feet as I walk. “Shit,” I mutter, finding myself sprawled on the ground in the middle of the sidewalk as a million people walk past me, completely ignoring me. Fucking New York.

“Hey, you okay?” I glance up into warm brown eyes attached to a very handsome face attached to a very handsome body.

“Um…” I laugh. “Yes. Apparently walking is a skill I haven’t quite mastered yet.”

He chuckles, reaching his hand out for me to take. I do and when he hauls me up, he draws me in a little closer than what’s socially acceptable. “I’m Mason,” he says with a broad smile, showcasing his perfect white teeth.

“Gia.”

His smile grows and I find myself matching it.

“How about I walk you wherever you were headed, Gia. Just to make sure you make it there without falling again.”

“Sure,” I say. “I’d like that.”