She wraps a couple of sandwiches in plastic foil and tucks them in a little cooler while I lean against the counter.
“What would you like to drink?” she asks.
“Apple juice. Who’s Amber?”
She flicks her eyes to me before filling a plastic container with slices of fresh pineapple.
“I told you about her. Her parents own a summer house not far from the beach on the other side of town. She shares it with two friends. Like us. Well, we’re only two,” she says, smiling.
My stare is blank as she moves her eyes back to me.
“I met her at the gym. She studies economics.”
“Oh, yes. I remember her.”
I most likely don’t, but Amber is not the reason I’m distracted.
It’s that strange feeling creeping up to me again.
It’s the bits and pieces of the conversation I have had with my grandaunt. It boggles my mind that I’m still thinking about it.
Frankie doesn’t seem to notice. For a few long seconds, I watch her pack the food and drinks and cleaning the table.
I’ve been friends with Frankie since high school. It was one of those crazy things. We couldn’t be more different, yet we had just enough things in common to become inseparable.
She’s an extrovert. I’m an introvert.
We liked each other from the get-go, and we’ve been friends ever since.
We haven’t changed much since our friendship started. She’s still the social butterfly while I still take people in small doses, except for her.
We have a few passions in common. Sports is one of them––being outdoors is the other.
The common things stop here.
She wants to become a teacher, start a charity foundation, and save the world while I want to get a Law degree, work in corporate America and travel... maybe.
She says I want things that will make my life miserable.
She also says I have it my genes to think the way I do, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
I want to spend time with her, for instance, and that doesn’t make me miserable. So there.
She couldn’t be more wrong.
She also said I hide how vulnerable I am.
I fought her on that.
It’s not true, I said. She smiled and said the very fact that I had argued with her proved that she was right.
That conversation ended in a draw.
“Figs?”
“Huh?”
She points to a round container with a red lid.
“I found them in the fridge.”
“Sure, toss them in there.”
“Did you pack any sweaters? It’s going to be a cold night.”
She points to the backpack.
“Yes. We have everything,” I say in a mellow voice.
Her stare lingers on me as I push off the counter.
“What’s with you?”
“Nothing.”
A smile lights up her face.
“Missing Olivia already?”
“Yes... No.”
I gesture.
“She deserves to travel.”
“One day we’ll do that too,” she says, winking at me. “When we’re old.”
“And look as if we’re forty like her.”
I grin.
“Yeah, what about that? They look good. Mmm... I wish I looked that good in my sixties. They’re hot.”
I laugh.
“People look younger these days.”
“No, they don’t.”
“Look at you.”
She ponders for a moment, her eyes going to me in a swift once over.
“Yeah. We do... maybe.”
Shorter than me, she has a small athletic frame–– she’s a trained gymnast and soccer player.
I put on more lean muscle these past few years, swimming and playing tennis, so we both have a sporty look.
Depending on how we dress, we could easily pass for high-school students.
Her hair is cropped short, barely touching the line of her shoulders, rings of hair framing her face and eyes. A small nose and full lips complete her look.
My hair falls down my back in waves depending on the weather. I’ve kept it longer all these years, and normally, I wear it in a ponytail or a loose bun at the top of my head.
It looks like dark chocolate in the winter and milk chocolate with streaks of blonde in the summer. Frankie calls it chocolate hair with amber eyes.
She thinks that whatever I do, I can’t go wrong with it.
I say the same thing about her hair and almond-shaped dark eyes.
“You know she gifted me a box of condoms.”
She stops in the middle of what she’s doing and looks at me, her mouth open.
“What?”
I nod.
“You heard right.”
“Olivia Harmon gave you a box of condoms?”
“Uh-huh.”
I point to the patio table outside.
“She said I should have it, just in case.”
“She doesn’t know.”
“No,” I say curtly, grappling with a blush. “We also had a lengthy talk about men.”
She spins to me, her hands landing on her hips.
“No way. What’s gotten into her?”
“I think she’s anxious that she left me by myself.”
I shrug and continue.
“I don’t know. I mean... It makes sense, but I didn’t expect condoms and men to be the last thing we talked about before she left.”
“What did she say?”
I sigh, feeling a weight on my chest.
“She warned me.”
Her eyebrows slide up.
“About?”
I hesitate for a moment before shaking my head and gesturing.
“It didn’t make any sense, and I told her. Especially since she’s never been married––”
“Did you talk about marriage?”
Her voice screeches as she looks at me, incredulously.
“It came up, yeah, but no. She was talking about men.”
Her head falls slightly to the side as she gives me a puzzled look.
“Real men,” I mutter.
“What do you mean, ‘real man’?”
I laugh. And shake my head.
“I don’t know what she was talking about. And I told her. She sounded like a sex column written in the fifties.”
“Don’t pass judgment.”
I laugh.
“I’m not passing judgment.”
My chuckle dies out as my eyes go down.
“Okay... I am,” I admit.
“It affected you?”
I lift an empty gaze at her.
“Yes, it did. And I don’t know why. It’s not what she said. It’s when she said it. The timing, you know... Just before she left. As if she wanted to dispense some life advice before going away for good.”
Her grin melts off her face.
“Separation anxiety must’ve been at play,” she says.
“Yes. Probably. We were both nervous.”
“On the other hand, the woman is a success, so you should listen to her. You can learn a thing or two from her.”
“I’ve never argued that.”
“She had lovers too.”
“Yes. She did,” I concede, reluctantly.
“What? It wasn’t good?”
“It’s not about that.”
I spin to the fridge and mechanically scoop out a small bottle of water.