Georgia on Her Mind(42)

“You know, your eyes glaze over at the mention of his name and I bet your heart goes pitter-patter.”

I make a face. “I beg your pardon—my heart never pitter-pats.”

She laughs. “Oh, I think it does. Dylan, Dylan, Dylan.”

“Stop,” I say, trying not to laugh. My mouth is full of bread.

With a shake of her head, Adriane concludes, “He must be fabulous.”

“In a word—” I sigh dreamily “—yes.” I don’t confess my next thought out loud because Adriane will reprimand me, but truthfully the Good Ship Dylan Braun has sailed. He lives in Beauty, I live here—maybe soon Chicago or New York.

Adriane twirls noodles on the end of her fork. “Don’t you find it more than coincidence that he’s still single and you’re still single—”

“No, I don’t. What are you implying?” I know what she’s implying, but I want to hear her silly little words.

“That maybe there’s really something between you two.”

Whoo, now that’s a load of silly words. I fidget, reaching for the Diet Coke bottle to refresh our glasses. Then I have a thought. “Remember that Oprah show?”

Adriane furrows her brow. “Which Oprah show?”

“The one with the authors of the book He’s Just Not That Into You.”

“Right, yes. I met those authors at a book party in New York during my last visit.”

“Very nice. Here’s my point. If Dylan wanted to pursue a relationship with me, he would.”

“Hasn’t he?” She regards me and I sense another cockamamie theory brewing behind her beady little eyes. “He did come to visit you. That’s gotta mean something. Perhaps he’s waiting for you to give him the green light.”

“There’s no light, Adriane. We aren’t even in the same city, let alone on the same street, the same block, looking at the same traffic light.”

“Don’t be literal when I’m speaking symbolically. Just because you’re not in the same town doesn’t mean you should let love pass you by.”

I smirk. “Oh, look who’s talking. Eat your dinner.”

She shrugs. “I’m just saying.”

“I know. Eat your dinner.”

We finish eating and clean up, chatting about her next book, chatting about all the great things to see and do in Chicago, which reminds Adriane of a great shopping spree she had once at the St. Louis station, which then leads us to sing “Meet me in St. Louis,” which leads to watching the DVD.

Curled up in my lounger, I try to shove all thoughts of Dylan from my pea brain while the opening credits of the movie flash across the screen. My attention needs to be on my career, not chasing down a high school crush.

Meanwhile, Adriane stretches out on the couch, boldly singing along with Judy Garland, off-key. She makes me laugh.

Midway through the movie Lucy calls to check in, and stresses her jealousy over the mini girls’ night.

I tease her. “You can come over any time. Just be sure to let Jack know you picked us over him.”

“It’s not fair. I want both.”

I relay the conversation to Adriane who, as I suspected, expresses no sympathy. “You go on with your man. Leave us Single Saved Sisters alone.”

Before she hangs up, Lucy demands, “Next time, call me.”

“Whatever.”

“And call me when you get to the city.”

“Yes, Mother.”

“Don’t be smart. Bye.”

I laugh. “Bye.”

At midnight Adriane crawls off the couch with a yawn and carries her glass and plate to the kitchen. “You have to get up in a few hours, don’t you?”

I follow with my own dishes. “Yeah, but I can sleep on the plane.” I hug her. “I’m so glad you came over.”

She kisses my cheek. “Me, too. I had a great time. Thank you so much. This was much better than being with my grumpy brother.” She slings her purse over her shoulder. “Good luck in New York.”

“I’ll take Manhattan.”

She smiles. “You’re a shining star in my life, Macy. Maybe I will write a book about you.”

“Oh, please. You want to stay published, don’t you?”

When she opens the door, the April night seems atypically cold and has me rethinking the strappy sandals I packed. Maybe I should go with heels.

“I can’t find my keys,” Adriane says, searching her bag. “I must have dropped them on the counter.” She runs inside to see.

I wait for her by the door, shivering, but I’m amazingly content. Content in body, content in soul and spirit. What a great way to end the weekend and start the week.

When the phone rings, I holler for Adriane to pick it up, fully expecting it to be Lucy demanding an update on our evening.

Adriane hands me the cordless with a puzzled expression. “I don’t know who it is,” she whispers.

I take the phone. “Hello.”

“Macy, it’s Elaine.”





Chapter Nineteen




“What’s wrong?”

“I’m in so much pain.” I hear her wheezing and moaning.

“I’ll be right there.”