Page 61 of 32 Days in May
Are we friends? If I don’t go to Rome, I’ll probably never see him again. Sweet November, over.
The morning passes at a steady clip as the usual suspects wander from stand to stand. I’m not sure if it’s the afterglow of the last few days or the Evergreen gossip mill working at its usual lightning pace, but I keep getting looks.
“All smiles today, aren’t we, dear?” Jeanine remarks while thoroughly thumbing a basil plant.
Nancy Birch, my former favorite waitress from the diner, is holding court by the last remaining ashtray at the base of the church steps. She’s surrounded by a cabal of similarly horny community elders. “They’re saying he has a girlfriend.” Then a woman with very blunt bangs shushes her loudly while making direct, unbroken eye contact with me.
“Boomers are so fucking weird,” I whisper to Soph.
“Don’t even get me started.” They roll their eyes. “Oh my God, Annetta Silva’s headed for them. She’s about to mess their shit up.”
Annie, endlessly chic with her crisp gray bob and repertoire of caftans, is hauling ass over to the group, pulling along a gorgeous brown-eyed toddler I’ve never seen before. Annie opens her mouth and in a booming voice calls out: “For the love of hummus, Nancy, are you really smoking outside the house of God?”
Don Bilovich drops by with some hefty bulbs of garlic from his garden and a sob story, looking for a deal on Soph’s award-winning rainbow chard. While they haggle it out, I step away from the stand and pick up my phone, which has started buzzing in the front pocket of my apron.
“Hello?”
“Amazing news,” Liv blurts out. “You’re never gonna believe this.”
“Ooooh, exciting.” I transfer my phone from one ear to the other, waving at the book club ladies who are collectively gawking at me from their usual spot under the awning of the coffee truck. Nancy is among them, and I’ve most definitely pinpointed that epicenter of all juicy Evergreen goss. I add an uncharacteristically big smile to my wave—something that says, Hello ladies! I fucking see you! “Hit me,” I say to Liv.
“Do you remember Celeste Taldi’s older sister? Long hair, weird nose?”
“Dionna Taldi?”
“Right! Okay! She came into the shop and told me she’s looking for someone to help the dental office with social media—”
I groan. “Oh jeez . . .”
“Hush. She’s going on about how she needs help getting followers on social media. They want more patients—younger people. And she’s not the only one. Turns out tons of people are looking for someone to help with social media. TikTok and all that. I mentioned you and she lit up. She was like, Nadia’s always been cool. Isn’t that crazy? You could totally start your own business doing this. I told her you’d probably love to—”
“Thank you, Liv, seriously. But I’m just not interested—”
“Why not? It’s basically free money. These businesses run themselves, you’ll just have to post a few times a day or whatever. You can move back to Philly!”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, stuffing back my growing frustration. “It sounds amazing—really. But I’m just not in the headspace to do marketing stuff again. I’m happy in Evergreen—”
“You’re happy in Evergreen? Doing what, growing mold? Hanging out with Marco?” That stings. It stings badly. Of course Liv would choose this moment to make fun of me, a time when I’m already feeling slightly battered and bruised, preemptively sad over how Marco will react when I tell him I can’t come to Rome. Proactively sad about another piece of life I’ll miss out on.
And of course Liv would make fun of me about the one man I’ve chosen to open up to her about—if the one passing conversation we’d had on the balcony could even be considered “opening up.”
Now I’m pissed and ready to pounce, but I’m not fast enough. I’m never fast enough to get Liv before she gets me. “Rotting away in Evergreen and fucking some guy who doesn’t even care about you enough to give you a real shot isn’t going to make you less sick, and it isn’t going to take your life off pause. You’re spinning your wheels and when Mom and Dad—”
A sudden, ancient rage sparks to life in my stomach. Is that what she thinks of me? Of sex? “Fucking some guy? Real classy, Liv. Really nice. You know what they say about South Philly girls—”
“What, because you’re not from here, too? I’d rather be trash than be a fucking depressive shuffling around in my bathrobe all day.”
Oh. We’re both out for blood.
“Real clever. Calling me a snob, once again. It’s the only insult you have.”
“Yeah, snob. You’re a snob. Snobby, lazy, and boring.”
“Oh, I’m boring? At least I’m not marrying the first guy to message me on Myspace.”
The situation is deteriorating faster than either of us can pull the emergency brake. If she was here in person, we’d be pulling each other’s hair and clawing at each other’s necks. We’re too old for this. I know we are. But I don’t care.
Every argument I’ve ever had with Liv has started for the exact same reason—everything has to be on her terms, and if I can’t match her enthusiasm, then I deserve the worst of her ire.
