“How are the dogs?” I ask, and they both stare at me like I’m an alien wearing a human suit.
Val heaves a sigh. “I’m feeding your dogs, and they’re chasing squirrels and taking lazy naps. I even stopped by yesterday to scatter some food around for Elvis. Can we talk about real stuff now?”
“Sheesh. Forgive me for caring about the welfare of my animals.”
“Lindy!” Winnie groans. “Stop it! What is happening with you and Pat?”
Starting with our conversation in the courthouse yesterday, I work backwards. Mostly because I knew they’d completely freak when I tell them I tried to get Pat to sleep with me, and he said no. And, of course, they do. I have to put a pillow over my face when I tell them this part.
“That’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” Winnie says. “You’re married. He’s a hottie. You’ve got literally years of sexual tension built up between you. It would be super weird if you weren’t interested in sleeping with him.”
Val shrugs. “I’d have thrown myself at him on the wedding night, but that’s me. I applaud your self-control.”
“Thank you? Anyway, that’s the story. Now I’m just wallowing.”
Winnie picks up my partially eaten donut. “Clearly.”
“The question is—are you ready for a little friend intervention?” Val asks. “Frientervention. I like the sound of that. Patent pending.”
“You can’t patent phrases,” I tell her. “That’s a trademark.”
Winnie waves a hand. “Back on topic. Frientervention—yay or nay?”
I hug the pillow to my chest. My empty, cavernous, heartless chest. “Yes. Please save me from myself. Even if it’s not what I want to hear. Even if you don’t agree with each other—because y’all almost never agree.”
“I’ll go first.” Winnie takes a deep breath, then says, “I think Pat is right.”
Val gasps and smacks Winnie’s knee. “You’re breaking girl code!”
“How am I breaking girl code? Also, it should be woman code. Or women code.”
“It doesn’t have the same ring to it,” Val argues. “Girl code just rolls off the tongue. Like girls’ night. Women’s night sounds lame, like a hangout where you’d crochet doilies or fold napkins.”
“Who folds napkins these days?” Winnie asks, and Val throws her hands up.
“Guys, usually I’m all about not being the center of attention,” I say, “but right now, I’m kind of having a crisis. Could we please focus? I need help here.”
They both stare at me. Then just keep staring.
“Y’all. I hope you heard me—I’m asking for help,” I repeat.
“Oh, we heard you,” Winnie says. “We’re just committing this moment to memory. That way we can hold it over your head later.”
I toss my pillow at her. Val gets up from her corner of the couch and invades my space, hugging me with the kind of force that could derail a train. “Despite what I said about girl code, I think maybe Winnie is right. Half right,” she amends.
“Go on.” Speaking is difficult with the softball lodged in my throat. Huh. How’d that get there?
“Pat’s timing was the absolute worst,” Val says. “It was. I think you were both emotionally frayed and overwhelmed, and he threw something at you when he should have waited. But Linds, you’ve been pushing him away since the moment he came back.”
“And, you said yourself, you were being kind of distant yesterday,” Winnie adds. “I happened to see his face right after everything ended. He was so excited—and then you breezed right by him to hug Jo.” I start to protest, and Winnie holds up a hand. “I get it! I do. Jo was the most important part of everything. But Pat looked crushed, like he wanted to be part of the moment and wasn’t.”