More Than I Could (95)

My heart swells as I take in my best friend.

Jovie Reynolds was my first friend in Kismet Beach when I moved here two and a half years ago. We reached for the same can of pineapple rings, knocking over an entire display in Publix. As we picked up the mess, we traded recipes—hers for a vodka cocktail and mine for air fryer pineapple.

We hung out that evening—with her cocktail and my air fryer creations—and have been inseparable since.

“My mom is not a bad person,” I say in her defense, even though I’m not so sure that’s true from time to time. “She’s just …”

“A bad person,” Jovie says.

I laugh. “No. I just … nothing I can do is good enough for her. She hated Geoff when I married him at twenty and said I was too young. But was she happy when that ended in a divorce? Nope. According to her, I didn’t try hard enough.”

Rebecca frowns.

“And then Geoff started banging Kim and—”

“What?” Rebecca yelps, her eyes going wide.

“Exactly. Bad people,” Jovie says, shaking her head.

“So your ex-husband will be at your grandma’s party with your aunt? Is that what you’re saying?” Rebecca asks.

I nod. “Yup.”

She stacks our plates on top of one another. The ceramic clinks through the air. “On that note, why can’t you just not go? Avoid it altogether?”

“Because my grandma Honey is looking forward to this, and she called me to make sure I was coming. I couldn’t tell her no.” My heart tightens when I think of the woman I love more than any other. “And, you know, my mom has made it abundantly clear that if I miss this, I will probably break Honey’s heart, and she’ll die, and it’ll be my fault.”

“Wow. That’s a freight train of guilt to throw around,” Rebecca says, wincing.

I glance down at my computer. The post is still there, sitting on the screen and waiting for my final decision. Although it is a genius idea, if I do say so myself—Jovie is probably right. It’ll just cause more problems than it’s worth.

I close the laptop and shove it into my bag. Then I hoist it on my shoulder. “It’s complicated. I want to go and celebrate with my grandma but seeing my aunt with my ex-husband …” I wince. “Also, there will be my mother’s usual diatribe and comparisons to Aria, proving that I’m a failure in everything that I do.”

“But if you had a boyfriend to accompany you, you’d save face with the enemy and have a buffer against your mother. Is that what you’re thinking?” Rebecca asks.

“Yeah. I don’t know how else to survive it. I can’t walk in there alone, or even with Jovie, and deal with all of that mess. If I just had someone hot and a little handsy—make me look irresistible—it would kill all of my birds with one hopefully hard stone.”

I wink at my friends.

Rebecca laughs. “Okay. I’m Team Fake Boyfriend. Sorry, Jovie.”

Jovie sighs. “I’m sorry for me too because I have to go back to work. And if I avoid the stoplights, I can make it to the office with thirty seconds to spare.” She air-kisses Rebecca. “Thanks for the extra mayo.”

I laugh. “See you tomorrow, Rebecca.”

“Bye, girls.”

Jovie and I walk single-file through Smokey’s until we reach the exit. Immediately, we reach for the sunglasses perched on top of our heads and slide them over our eyes.

The sun is bright, nearly blinding in a cloudless sky. I readjust my bag so that the thin layer of sweat starting to coat my skin doesn’t coax the leather strap down my arm.

“Call me tonight,” Jovie says, heading to her car.

“I will.”

“Rehearsal for the play got canceled tonight, so I might go to Charlie’s. If I don’t, I may swing by your house.”

“How’s the thing with Charlie going? I didn’t realize you were still talking to him.”

She laughs. “I wasn’t. He pissed me off. But he came groveling back last night, and I gave in.” She shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a sucker for a good grovel.”

“I think it’s the theater girl in you. You love the dramatics of it all.”

“That I do. It’s a problem.”

“Well, I’ll see you when I see you then,” I say.

“Bye, Brooke.”

I give her a little wave and make my way up Beachfront Boulevard.

The sidewalk is fairly vacant with a light dusting of sand. In another month, tourists will fill the street that leads from the ocean to the shops filled with trinkets and ice cream in the heart of Kismet Beach. For now, it’s a relaxing and hot walk back to the office.

My mind shifts from the heat back to the email reminder I received during lunch. To Honey’s party. It takes all of one second for my stomach to cramp.

“I shouldn’t have eaten all of those fries,” I groan.

But it’s not lunch that’s making me unwell.

A mixture of emotions rolls through me. I don’t know which one to land on. There’s a chord of excitement about the event—at seeing Honey and her wonderful life be celebrated, catching up with Aria and the rest of my family, and the general concept of going home. But there’s so much apprehension right alongside those things that it drowns out the good.