Page 28 of The Girl He Loves
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Coffee with the girls— it’s just what I need. We meet every week, and alternate whose apartment we meet at. Since we all live in the building, this doesn’t even require putting on a jacket. Although I do like to dress up because I don’t get out much, and it gives me an excuse to wear one of my many skirts and heels — the walking is minimal so I can even wear my stilettos if the mood strikes — the girls always appreciate the effort, more so than Brian.
Today, we’re meeting at Gretchen’s on the second floor, one below me. I stare down at my flower-print skirt and rounded toe Nine West pumps as I take the stairs to get there.
As soon as Gretchen swings the door open, she’s all smiles. I love to see her happy because it’s not a common sight. Gretchen is going through a lot — not only does she have a two-year old, but she’s also raising him alone. Her husband, Donovan, a great guy, passed away two and a half years ago, following a car wreck when they were on holiday in Mexico. She was six months pregnant, and fortunately, she was sitting on the right side of the car, the side that didn’t get T-boned.
She never talks about it, and we know better than to pry. I know that we are her rock — she’s told us more than once. I do my best to be there for her. I text her and call her often. I bring her treats; chocolate, her favorite tea, comedies on DVD. I’m careful not to select romances of any kind, lest they remind her of Donovan. The truth is, I’m not great with these kind of situations, and when it first happened, I was an awkward mess around her.
She gives me a long squeeze. I’m not usually great with hugs and physical intimacy, but with Gretchen, it’s different. “Come in,” she says. “You look great. Love the skirt.”
“You too,” I say genuinely. Gretchen and I have similar tastes in clothing. Today, she’s wearing retro inspired green shorts with sailor buttons and a pretty white blouse. Her long brown hair is tousled casually.
Abigail and Claudia are already here, laughing and chatting. They greet me with quick hugs.
“I’m surprised you’re late,” Abigail says. “Thats not very Mischa,” she teases.
“Well, I haven’t been very Mischa lately,” I tell her. If she only knew.
“The usual, Mischa?” Gretchen calls out from the kitchen.
I’m on the floor, saying hello to little Ethan who is surrounded by his toys. He’s working hard on a wooden puzzle, and it tugs at my heart — reminds me so much of Trevor and Tristan at that age. “Sure,” I reply. My usual is chai tea these days. Until I get bored with it, and move onto something else.
I rise and head to the sectional to join Claudia and Abigail. Claudia’s talking about her date the night before — apparently, he was a dud. Claudia is recently separated, soon to be going through a divorce. Her son, Colton, is just two years younger than Tristan. I don’t think she has any trouble finding dates — she’s an absolute goddess — picture Salma Hayek.
“He asked me if I have ever tried anal,” Claudia is saying. “On the first date! Can you believe that shit?”
Abigail laughs. “So what did you reply?”
“None of your business, you creep,” Claudia tells her. “And none of your business either, Abby.”
“Aww… you’re no fun,” Abigail whines. “Don’t you know I live vicariously through you, Claudia?”
Claudia lifts her mug of tea to her lips. “I don’t know why. You and Daniel have been broken up for years now. Maybe it’s time to move on.”
Claudia can be quite direct sometimes, but she’s right. Abigail and her ex-husband have been divorced for two years, and Abigail’s been moping ever since.
“Men are all jerks,” Abigail deadpans, and the room falls silent. Truth be told, I’m the only one of the four of us who could be considered lucky in love. And considering that I’ve just discovered that my perfect husband not only cheated on me early in our relationship, but also has a secret daughter, perhaps I’m not so lucky either.
“Sooo….” Claudia says, breaking the silence. “How about you, Mischa. How’s your perfect life going?”
Everyone laughs. Everyone but me. I’m usually very private, but I’m dying to share. I just don’t know how to. I don’t want to say anything before I’ve spoken to Brian, before I know for sure. I don’t have all the answers yet.
“I went to a new hairdresser yesterday,” I cock a brow. “None of you noticed.”
Claudia laughs. “You look exactly the same. You always look flawless.”
I bring a hand to my bob. “It’s an inch shorter.”
“It looks fantastic,” Gretchen offers. “You really suit it.”
Oh, Gretchen… such a sweetie.
“So my new stylist is a man,” I go on. “He’s really good.”
“Hot?” Abigail asks.
My smile reaches my ears when I reply, “Very.”
