16. Sadie
16
SADIE
I slide into the booth at the back of my favorite local Mexican restaurant, Casa Rosa, and Iris immediately pushes a margarita in my direction.
“We got this for you,” she announces. “Strawberry, frozen, no salt.”
Wow. This emergency meeting must be serious if I need an immediate hit of fruity tequila-infused fortitude.
“We also ordered the giant nachos and two cheese quesadillas,” Sloane adds with a smile that looks a little tight around the edges.
Cheese quesadillas are Sloane’s favorite.
“Is anyone else coming?” I scan the faces of Sloane, Iris, and Molly, all seated and facing directly at me.
“Taylor is out of town at a library conference,” Iris answers, “And Avah drove down to Denver for her parents’ anniversary dinner.”
I try not to focus my full attention on Sloane. It’s only been a week since I ran into my friend at the farmers market, but I can’t help my tendency to be on high alert, assessing every detail about her demeanor, the spark in her eyes, and how she’s holding up. I assume the emergency involves Sloane, but refuse to venture a guess as to what more our friend might reveal. We’ve all vowed to support her however we can.
“We want an update on Operation V-Card,” Molly chimes in. “You’ve been dating The Playmaker long enough that surely he’s made some kind of play .”
I’ve just taken a massive slurp of tequila and start choking as the ice-cold drink goes down the wrong pipe. So much for my worry about Sloane. Turns out, I’m the emergency.
She pats me on the back. “We were going to lead into the topic at hand in a more roundabout way. Like maybe after Sadie finished her drink.” She gives Molly a pointed look.
The curvy redhead throws up her hands. “We need to get this show on the road, and not just because babysitters cost a small fortune these days. At least the ones willing to take on my twin terrors.”
I dab at the corner of my mouth with a napkin and will my cheeks not to heat with embarrassment at how little I have to report. “Is there a deadline or reason I need to rush this?” I lean forward. “It’s kind of a big deal, you know?”
Molly glances at Sloane out of the corner of her eye, then gives a meaningful shrug.
“What?” I demand. “What’s that look about? There’s something you aren’t telling me.”
Sloane shakes her head. “There’s no hurry or deadline.”
“Do you expect me to believe we’re just here to discuss when I’m going to finally get a sex life?” I’ve had a lot of mortifying moments in my life, but this could be the pinnacle.
“I’m flying to Nashville next week,” Sloane says slowly. “My brother has a friend who’s an oncologist at the cancer center at Vanderbilt.”
“I thought you were seeing a doctor in Denver.”
She wrinkles her nose. “That was my plan, but Jeremy wants me seen by someone he knows and trusts. Chemo is the typical treatment, but they’re doing some cutting edge stuff with immunotherapy and other targeted cancer drugs. I’m going to see what options I have.”
“Are your parents meeting you in Nashville?” I ask.
Sloane’s parents are archeologists and college professors who’ve been living in Europe for the past five years. She doesn’t talk about her family much, but from the snippets she’s shared, they worked and traveled a lot when she was growing up. They also refused to accept that Sloane wasn’t interested in college. Because she didn’t capitulate to their plan for her future—which included an Ivy League or, at the very least, second-tier Ivy university—her parents basically cut her off.
I get the impression she went a bit wild in rebellion. Lucky for us, her new adult adventures brought her to Colorado from the East Coast. The boyfriend she’d followed out here is long gone, but Sloane stayed and settled in Skylark, taking over and running the local bookstore with money from a trust set up by her grandma.
Her features stay neutral at my question, but she begins tapping an agitated finger on the edge of her water glass. “They’re busy on a dig,” she says. “Things changed too quickly for them to leave on such short notice.”
That’s some next-level crap right there. How could a parent not find a way to be with their kid during this kind of crisis?
“Let one of us go with you,” Molly tells her.
“I’ll go,” I offer.
Sloane laughs. “What will the dog owners of Skylark do without their favorite trainer?”
“She’s right.” Iris nods. “I’m the mayor, and I can take time off more easily than Sadie.”
“You matter more than any client, Sloane. I’m happy to do it.”
Molly wraps an arm around Sloane’s shoulder. “You can’t do this alone.”
Sloane draws in a long breath. “I’m not. My brother is meeting me in Nashville.”
Iris snorts in obvious disbelief. “The brother you haven’t spoken to in five years?”
“Five minutes is more like it recently,” she says with a sigh. “Jeremy has decided he’s going to make up for all those estranged years in one fell swoop. To be honest, I can’t say no. My insurance doesn’t cover the cost for some of the treatments they’re discussing.” She shrugs. “He’s offered to pay for everything, but for whatever reason, the caveat is he wants to be with me.”
We’ve heard stories about Sloane’s brilliant brother. The textbook golden boy, according to her. Jeremy was the child who did everything their parents expected, including becoming mega-rich and successful by creating the backend software used by some of the world’s most popular online shopping sites. I read an article that said Jeremy Winslow’s net worth was pushing the billion-dollar mark. Not only can he afford to pay for her treatment, he can fund the whole hospital.
“How long will you be gone?” Iris asks. “Do we have time for a going-away party?”
Sloane leans her head against Molly’s shoulder. “I’m flying out early tomorrow.”
“Do you need a ride to the airport?” Iris asks.
“Jeremy is sending a car.” Sloane smiles softly. “It’s weird to see my Jeremy going full overprotective big brother mode, but I guess I’ll take it.”
“It’s good he’s stepping up.” Iris holds up her glass in a mock toast to Jeremy.
“What do you need from us?” I shoot Molly a glare. “I find it hard to believe the primary concern right now is my sex life.
The waitress, who has just brought the plate of nachos, clears her throat. “How is sex with Ian Barlowe?” she asks, leaning in. “I mean, I’ve seen the underwear ads and how he fills out those boxers. It’s got to be good, right?”
I turn my head to stare up at her. “I’m sorry, have we met?”
“Not officially, but my aunt boards her dog with you when she’s out of town. She’s always going on about how great you are with Roscoe.”
Roscoe is a seven-year-old dachshund with a penchant for eating his own poop. “He’s a real sweetheart.” I offer a smile because I can’t afford to lose any more clients. “But I must have misheard because I thought you just asked me, a complete stranger other than an association through your aunt’s dog, for details about my sex life.”
The waitress, whose plastic name tag identifies her as Andrea, smacks her gum and shrugs. “No offense, of course, but everyone in town is talking about you.”
“What are they saying?” I blurt the question then hold up a hand when Iris leans forward like she’s going to cut the young woman off before she can answer.
“Most people assume that since you’re neighbors, it makes sense you two would have a little welcome-to-our-town fling. But no one thinks it will last. I’m sure he can find a better?—”
“You should stop right there,” Iris interrupts, ignoring my hand. “And get us another round of drinks instead. Coping with your propensity for oversharing is thirsty work, Andrea.”
The waitress frowns like she doesn’t quite understand the mayor’s subtle censure.
“Real thirsty work,” Molly adds. “For the record, Sadie is the perfect person to welcome Ian to town.”
Sloane chokes out a laugh, and I concentrate on the triangular chip sitting on the plate in front of me. How fantastic…another new pinnacle. My head is woozy from the altitude on this mountain of mortification.
“I don’t mean in any sexual way,” Molly clarifies. She points a finger at Andrea like she’s calling out a misbehaved child. “We should not be talking about Sadie’s sex life with you.”
“Stop saying the word sex out loud,” I mutter.
“How are those drinks coming?” Iris makes a shooting motion with her hand.
Andrea blows a small bubble with her gum and turns away with a flounce.
“We’ve all seen the underwear ads,” she says over her shoulder.
“Why can’t people get over the damn underwear ads?” I ask no one in particular.
“Um…let’s assume that’s a rhetorical question.” Molly fans a hand in front of her face. “But just in case it’s not, the reason is because they make The Playmaker look like sin on a stick.”
“And they don’t look photoshopped,” Iris adds with a soft laugh.
I take a sip of my margarita then place it back on the table, contemplating my next move as I meet Sloane’s concerned gaze. It’s humbling that she can be facing cancer and still manage to show concern for my little problems. Or, not so little in Ian’s case.
“Is it important to you that I lose my V-card before you start chemo or immunotherapy or whatever?”
She squeezes her eyes shut and laughs. “I don’t think so. Cancer sucks either way.”
“Which is why you need a distraction,” Molly says, giving me a pointed look. “Checking things off the bucket list challenge, for example.”
“Then move on to the next person,” I suggest, trying not to sound peevish before turning to Iris. “Who happens to be you. What’s on your list?”
“Skipping to the next person isn’t how it works,” Iris insists. “We can’t change the rules we made. Sticking to a commitment is important. But if you don’t want to do this…”—she lays a comforting hand on mine—“no one is going to force you. It’s okay.”
The waitress returns with the drinks, and I quickly finish my first one.
“I do want to have sex,” I admit after she disappears again, glancing over my shoulder to make sure we’re not overheard, “but I’m scared. Especially at the thought of sex with Ian. I’ve seen the underwear ads too. Those boxer briefs weren’t stuffed with socks.”
“How do you know?” Molly asks with a wicked laugh. “Are you holding out on us?”
“I’m trying to keep some dignity here,” I argue. “I should have just picked something like skydiving or climbing Mount Everest. Those would have been easier options.”
“The point is to do something that takes you out of your comfort zone in a meaningful way,” Sloane reminds me. “To be afraid but take the action anyway. Trust me, I understand being afraid.”
I press a palm to my forehead. “Oh God, I’m sorry, Sloane. My paltry fear is nothing compared to what you’re dealing with. I know that.”
“We’re all dealing with our own challenges,” my sweet friend assures me. “Nobody gets to decide which of them means more or less.”
“I think we decide that,” I continue, pointing a chip in her direction. “Cancer is more.”
Iris and Molly nod in agreement, but Sloane shakes her head. “I don’t want it to be more. I want it to be something I can get over, just like you can overcome the fear of your first time with a man. Kristen Quinn wrote that it’s not the size of the lessons that make a difference…”
“It’s how we learn from them,” Molly chimes in. “Ian is the perfect guy for this lesson,” she assures me. “He can be your training-wheel bike.”
Sloane snorts. “Having sex with The Playmaker is prolly not going to be like riding a bike with training wheels. More like a fancy e-bike that does all the work for you.”
“You said it’s not serious,” Iris reminds me. “He’s just helping you for the wedding, so it’s okay to do whatever. You guys are the definition of no strings attached.”
I don’t answer, and my friends stare at me, the food and drinks forgotten for the moment.
“Oh, sweetie,” Molly murmurs like she’s comforting one of her kids. “Don’t say you’re falling for him. You told us there was no chance of falling for him.”
“I haven’t,” I lie. “But he’s my neighbor, and what if I’m bad at the bedroom stuff, which is highly probable since I’ve never done it before? I’ll have to see him still, and that’ll be more humiliating than never having done it in the first place.”
“Sadie, honey…” Molly shakes her head. “You’re making sex a bigger deal than it is.”
“Sex is a big deal,” I say in a louder tone than I intended. The woman at the next table turns to stare. I wave at her then focus again on my friends. “It should be. I think I want it to mean something.”
“You don’t have to do this if it doesn’t feel right,” Sloane tells me. “Not with Ian or anyone. Bucket list or no, you need to take care of you.”
“I want to do it. I just didn’t expect it to be so complicated. Women have random one-night stands with guys they meet in bars all the time. And there are a gazillion apps that facilitate meeting someone, but I don’t have a single profile. I’m hopeless.”
At this point, I’m not even sure why I chose this as my bucket list activity.
“You could be right.” I nod at Molly. “I’ve made this too big of a deal in my own head. I want to get rid of this stupid V-card. There’s being a late bloomer and then there’s…”
“Being a real-life forty-year-old virgin?” Iris suggests with a grimace.
“Rude.” I elbow her hard in the arm even as I laugh. “I’m in my mid-thirties.” The protest sounds weak to my own ears.
I take another healthy swig of margarita, grateful for the warmth it sends spiraling through my chest. “Maybe I should knock on Ian’s door when I get home or text him for a booty call. He’s made it clear he wants me, and even if it’s for the reasons Andrea suggested—I’m convenient and a sure thing—who cares. They’re both the truth.”
I toast Sloane’s glass with mine. “If you can face down the big C, I can handle…well, me.”
“It’ll be great,” Molly assures me. “And if not, it will be over quickly enough.”
Iris nods. “Besides, there are always battery-operated options to fill in the gaps.”
There’s a beat of silence at the table, and then we all dissolve into laughter. Leave it to Iris to remind us that we can take things into our own hands. My friend the mayor is the most self-sufficient woman I know. And apparently, that applies to all facets of her life.
Wiping some stray tears of laughter from my cheeks, I turn a more sober eye to Sloane. “Does the rest of the book club know?”
She nods. “I called them once I knew who was going to be able to make it tonight. I really wanted to tell you all in person, and I appreciate your support so very much.” She flashes a sheepish grin. “I also appreciate you’re not giving up on your bucket list item, Sadie. It’s not exactly the same thing, but it helps to know somebody else is struggling. Misery loves company and all of that.”
Molly kisses Sloane’s temple. “I hate cancer,” she whispers. “But you’ve got this, girl.” Her soft green eyes track to me. “You’ve both got this.”
Iris squeezes my hand. “And we’re here for you every step of the way.”