Georgia on Her Mind(52)

Lucy is watching with her fingers over her eyes while Adriane cuddles with Eric in the corner, oblivious.

“It’s all right, Macy,” Tomás assures me. “I came with a date. She can drive me.”

“Are you sure?” I help him to his feet.

“Yes, I’ll need my car anyway.”

Seeing the bloodstained towel, I start to cry. I can’t help it. “Please forgive me. I’m so, so, so sorry.”

He touches my arm. “Forget it. I told you to concentrate.”

I grin through my embarrassment. “So, I guess this is your fault?”

On that lighthearted note, we help him to his car.

I return to the pavilion and sulk in the corner, aware that I single-handedly put a damper on the whole beach bash. And I didn’t want to be here in the first place.

Lucy, Adriane and Tamara slide up next to me on the bench. “It was an accident.”

“It’s a barbaric sport.”

“Girl, don’t think about it.”

I nudge Lucy. “I hope you’re happy.”

“Me?”

“Yes. This is all your fault for making me come, and then shoving me out there to play volleyball.”

She brushes her hand over my hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t really think—” She stops talking to giggle. “When the ball bounced out of the net and into your face…”

Tamara looks the other way, biting her bottom lip, and Adriane wants to know what happened. She missed it all. Tamara recounts the whole thing.

I’m angry. Well, I want to be angry. However, the picture Tamara paints makes me laugh.

Despite the support of the single and saved, and all the great fun I’m having (not), I ask Jack and Lucy to run me home. Even cute Kip’s big comforting hand on my shoulder doesn’t comfort me. Breaking a man’s nose is exhausting.

This, I promise Lucy, is my last singles event, ever.

“Definitely,” she agrees. “Definitely.”



Sitting at my computer desk, I check e-mail while picking at a two-day-old salad. Outside my window the sun paints the fading Memorial Day sky with a rich reddish hue. Nothing like spam e-mail and soggy lettuce to cheer a girl.

But I spot an e-mail from my old debate buddy, Kathy Bailey. Well, this is pleasant. I click to open her e-letter.



Dear Macy,

How are you? I saw your name on the class reunion flyer. I wasn’t going to go this time, but when I saw you were emcee, I changed my mind. I can’t wait to see you. I still think of how much we laughed in Mr. Ellison’s class.

Married life is good. We love California, yet it doesn’t feel like home. I’m pregnant with number four, but Mark and I agree this is the last. At my age, I have no patience for starting over with the diapers and midnight feedings.



Oh, gag. At her age. That’s my age, and I haven’t even started with a round of diapers and midnight feedings.

There’s an attachment at the bottom of her e-mail. I click on it. A radiant Kathy smiles at me with Mark and the three kids gathered around. She looks fulfilled and happy.

First Joley, then Lucy, now Kathy. I exit e-mail, pick up my uneaten salad and head for the kitchen. Did I make a wrong turn somewhere in my twenties and end up in Old Maid-dom thinking it was Career Haven?

I know it’s wrong to compare myself to others, but give me a minute. Kathy is content and happy as a wife and mom, raising kids that just may be president or the next Bill Gates.

I’m an unattached, unemployed nose breaker. That’s it. I’m resigning as the emcee.

I dump the spotted lettuce and soft tomatoes into the garbage and jerk open the freezer door. What I need is a bowl of ice cream to soothe the black eye of my day. But the freezer is bare.

I’m pondering making a food run when my front door opens. Lucy and Jack, Adriane and Eric, Tamara and Sam tumble in, supermarket bags dangling from their hands.

“We decided you shouldn’t be sitting home alone,” Lucy informs me, dropping her plastic bag on my kitchen table. “We brought subs.”

“What about the cookout?” I ask, my heart smiling, feeling the love. I am so blessed.

“You’re more important.”

I peek into one of the bags. Ice cream, Diet Coke and brownie mix. “Ah, you guys, my favorites.”

Tamara holds up several DVDs. “Movie of your choice.”

Adriane drops into the lounger, crossing her long legs. “I couldn’t have fun thinking of you sitting here alone.” Eric sits on the arm of the chair, his hand on her shoulder. He’s quiet and observant, and I like him.

Jack explains, “The guys are going to the Sylvester Stallone festival at the Oaks and you girls will have ladies’ night.” Without much thought, he kisses me on the cheek.

“Thank you,” I whisper. I like the glint in Jack’s eye. Lucy’s smart to fall in love with him.

Sam digs in one of the bags. “First let’s eat. I’m starved.”

“Yeah, let’s get to it.”

We sit at the dining-room table, eat and laugh, and tell stories on ourselves. Since I gave everyone a visual today, I’m absolved from recounting.

Tomás calls to let me know he’s all right. I apologize again for the umpteenth time and he assures me he’s over it.