“She’s a veterinarian’s assistant,” I counter. “And Stuart picked his stuff up today. Dax offered to cancel and hang out because he thought I might be upset.”
Kiersten responds with an mmmm-hmmm, and I prepare for some sort of follow-up comment. Instead, she turns away, and we walk in silence in the direction of my condo. By the third block, I assume the subject has been dropped. Then she stops and fishes out a second doughnut from her box, but before she takes a bite, she pauses. “It was the third date if I recall. That’s the sex date. He canceled his sex date for you.”
“It’s not that big of a deal.”
Kierst bites into her doughnut, watching me.
“Stop giving me that look.”
She holds up her hands. “This is how I look at everyone. If you are interpreting anything other than sisterly concern, that’s on you.”
My phone vibrates. It’s Dax again. I ignore Kierst and text him back, letting him know he can come over whenever he finishes. The entire time, I can feel her eyes on me.
“You know what I think you should do tonight?” she asks.
My text whooshes out into cyberspace. “I have a very good idea who you think I should do.”
Kiersten shrugs innocently. “He canceled his date for you. Plus, he’s a total babe. I’d be all over that if I wasn’t married.”
“Kiersten.”
“Seriously, the man wears jeans that leave nothing about that ass to the imagination.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means instead of waking up tomorrow morning to your three alarm clocks, you could be waking up with whisker-burned thighs.”
I don’t know how to respond. So I stand, mouth still open in shock, as she licks a smudge of abandoned pink frosting from the corner of her lip and starts walking. Her extra three inches in height require me to run-walk to catch up.
“He’s my best friend,” I tell her, waving my hand in front of my currently non-whisker-burned region. “Doing that is not a friend activity.”
She eyes my crotch. “Why not? I’d bet the rest of this doughnut that Daxon McGuire is a generous lover.”
My mouth drops open a second time. “Now you’re making things up.”
Kiersten pops what remains of the gambled doughnut into her mouth. “What did he bring you last month when you were in bed with strep throat?”
I know exactly where she is trying to go. He brought me soup. Homemade. It was delicious. “He got a Crock-Pot for Christmas, and he hadn’t used it yet.”
She lifts her chin, a huge smile spreading across her face because she thinks she’s won our argument. “Make all the excuses you want, Gemma. He wants you. And I think, once your heart has had a little bit more time to realize that Stuart was the fucking worst and you dodged a massive bullet, you’ll realize that friends can easily become lovers.”
Before I can tell her all of the flaws in her shoddy argument, my phone rings. Kiersten’s eyebrows waggle as if she’s anticipating more evidence of her wild theory. I get a small sense of satisfaction in holding up my phone and showing her our elderly aunt’s name flashing across the screen.
“What’s up, Aunt Livi?” I press the phone to my ear and turn my back to my sister.
“Hello, poodle. Just checking in to see how the heart is healing today.”
I swallow the lump that has suddenly appeared in my throat at the reminder that my love life is in shambles. “I’m attempting to cope with sugar, but it’s not working so well.”
There’s a soft tinkle of wind chimes in the background on her end of the line. I know the sound well enough to tell that my aunt is in her bookshop and has either opened her front door or has her first customer of the day.
“Well, I called to tell you I have the perfect answer to all of your heart troubles. Why don’t you come by for a visit tonight?”
I brace for her new age brand of weird. I’ve been the recipient of one too many of her healing tonics and cleansing teas not to have developed a healthy skepticism.
“Swing by around seven?” she asks.
“I’m supposed to hang out with Dax tonight.”
“Perfect, the more the merrier. Bring your sister too.”
I cover the microphone with my palm and turn back to face Kierst. “What are you up to tonight?”
She shrugs. “Watching The Bachelor so I can tell you who got kicked off, since you’re a weirdo.”
It’s true. I can’t watch that show without knowing who gets a rose. One of my many endearing quirks.
“Come to Aunt Livi’s after the kiddos are in bed. She’s gonna cure me.”
She doesn’t agree but instead opens her doughnut box for the third time, then snaps it shut and clutches her stomach. “Fine. I’ll come. But if she suggests naked chanting again, I’m leaving.”
I wave her off and return my attention to my aunt. “Need me to pick up anything?”
There is a short pause before she speaks. “Actually, yes. If you get a chance. We will need coarse salt, two Scotch bonnet peppers, and four triple-A batteries.”
“Sounds good,” I say, unsure how afraid I should be of this evening’s plans.
I hang up the phone and realize that we are walking not back to my condo but to Kiersten’s white minivan parked on a side street. She clicks her key fob, and the back door automatically slides open. She tosses her doughnut box onto a Cheerio-covered car seat and then reaches for the passenger door.
“Want a ride home?”
I shake my head. “I’m gonna walk. I won’t get a Peloton workout in before Aunt Livi’s. I have a six o’clock with some company in Shanghai that wants me to buy their revolutionary new dandruff shampoo. I’m dreading it already.”
“Anytime you want to trade jobs, say the word. Although I recommend you sit through one of Riley’s softball games first. Or a PTA meeting. Or what feels like monthly dentist appointments, as all three of my children seem to have inherited Trent’s weak teeth. But today is not about my clusterfuck.” She holds out her arms, and I let her envelop me in one last hug. She squeezes me tightly before pulling back and cupping my face with her hands.
“I’m glad you’re coming tonight,” I tell her. “I think a night with you, Aunt Livi, and Dax is exactly what I need.”
She walks around to the driver’s side, climbs in, and, as she’s fastening her seatbelt, hits the button to roll down the passenger window. “You know what they say, Gems, breakups are hard.” She winks. “But you know what else is hard?”
I shake my head.
“Dax’s dick.”
With that, she pulls out into the road. I can hear her laughing all the way to the four-way stop.
Chapter 2
Margaritas are not meant for Monday nights.