Chapter 2 Ginger
Ginger
I’m two seconds from finding out the reason why Nadia Durango killed her husband when my phone rings.
“Hey girl,” my best friend, Wrenley, greets me when the FaceTime video connects.
She’s got a baby on her hip—Amelia, judging by the heart shaped birthmark behind her tiny ear as she’s cradled against her mama’s shoulder—food stains on her shirt, and her long blonde hair is tied up in a lopsided bun.
She looks exhausted, but incredibly happy.
Something too close to envy tugs at my gut.
“Hey, babe.”
Amelia turns to the phone and smiles widely when she sees me on the screen.
In reality, it’s probably the ten-month-old’s own reflection that has her adorable little dimples popping, but I adore the idea that I can make her smile like that.
“How’s it going?” Wren asks, and I can make out her spacious, but cozy living room when she drops onto the deep sectional with a tired sigh and pops a bottle into her daughter’s mouth.
“Oh, you know, missing the boys like crazy. But I just peed with the door closed and no one stood outside saying ‘mom, mom, moooom’ a hundred times, so that was nice.”
Wren chuckles and runs a hand over Amelia’s hair. “I’d call that a win.”
Hank, Wren’s husband, comes into view behind her, wrapping his arms around her shoulders from behind the couch. “You doing okay, Red? Thought maybe you’d stow away in a suitcase or something.” His tone is gruff but lightly teasing, and it makes me smile.
Hank adores my best friend, and by association, he cares enough to know I might be spiraling a bit.
“That would have to be a pretty big suitcase.”
Wren laughs. “Nah, you’re bendy for a tall chick.”
“Here, let me take her.” Hank nods at their daughter and plants a kiss on Wren’s neck.
“Thanks, baby,” Wren says, offering up her lips as her husband cradles Amelia against his chest.
I shouldn’t be envious. I’ve had that: baby snuggles and that newlywed feeling that makes you giddy just hearing the other person’s voice. I’m happy for them. So why do I have to force a smile onto my face?
“I’ll rock her in our room and then put her down with Hazel,” he tells Wren, and then he coos at his daughter, “we don’t want to interrupt mommy’s girl talk, do we, Princess?”
Wren’s face lights with a wistful smile, watching her husband stroll away. Probably checking out his ass, if I had to guess.
She turns back to me. “So, did you work all night?”
She knows me so well. “Not all night. The house is so quiet, I keep wondering if I’ve lost my hearing.”
Wren laughs. “I bet. It would be majorly weird not to hear some sort of baby noises around here and I’ve only been a mom for like five seconds compared to you.”
“Baby noises are easy, and you’re lucky you have girls. All talk around here involves farts, poop, and balls.”
My best friend stifles a giggle with her hand. “Just think, you get to sleep in tomorrow,” she says with a wink. “No balls in sight.”
Loud music starts up from next door and I huff out a breath. “Scratch that, apparently my new neighbors are having a party, and they all have balls.”
Wren’s brows lift. “Wait—we’re circling back to that comment. I didn’t know anyone had moved in.”
“Oh yeah,” I wave my hand. “Bunch of hot, young dudes and their ridiculously gorgeous female friends are always hanging around. One of them even hit on me.”
“Of course they did. You still got it, mama,” Wren chuckles. “What did he say?”
“It was a guy and one of the girls, actually.” I prop my chin in my hand. “Turns out Josh and Ryan are cousins, and Vanessa is apparently with both of them.”
My best friend’s eyes go wide. “Seriously?”
“Mm-hm. And the kicker? Josh and Vanessa propositioned me the other day out on the driveway.”
Wren snorts. “How do you always manage to get yourself into these kinds of things?”
My shoulders shake with laughter, and I swallow a mouthful of beer. “I know you’re not referring to the time that pharmacy tech hit on me while I had the stomach flu. I was young and flirty and twenty years younger.”
“You had bedhead and were wearing pajamas with dancing bananas on them. I’m pretty sure you hadn’t showered in days.”
“I rocked the hell out of those banana pants, and you know it.”
“You also had a bit of dried vomit on your top,” she deadpans.
I chuckle again, shrugging a shoulder with a grin. “It’s a gift.”
We’ve been like this since college—Wren was my roommate in our off-campus apartment, and somehow, we’ve stayed tight through moves, marriages, babies, and now, this strange late-thirties reboot I seem to be in.
After our laughter dies off, I see the question forming in her eyes before she even says it.
“So tell me how you’re really doing?”
I shrug. “I’m fine.”
Clearly, I’m not.
Our twins, Tate and Jordan, were two when Peter and I divorced. Nearly four years later, Peter’s remarried with a new baby, two stepsons, and a house in Seattle.
He’d asked for two weeks in Seattle with the boys, and of course I wanted them to have time with their dad, step-siblings, and new baby brother.
So I kissed them a million times, packed their tiny suitcases, and wrangled our shared-custody beagle, Baxter—who’s making the permanent move—into Peter’s Lexus, then waved goodbye like it didn’t tear me in half.
The truth is, I cried the second they turned the corner. Not only because I missed them already—but because it felt like one more reminder that Peter’s moved on. That they’re starting to have a life that doesn’t include me. And maybe that’s what really gutted me.
Wren shakes her head. “You’re not getting off that easily.”
“I’m hanging up and calling my mother,” I threaten.
That makes her laugh. She knows there is no one I would rather talk to less than Darlene Chapman.
I know I’m being a baby, but this is the first time I’ve spent more than a weekend away from them since birth.
I keep telling myself it’s only two weeks.
This first week, I’ll be here alone—doing my best not to spiral—before flying out to Timber Forge to visit Wren and the Hayes family.
Peter is bringing the boys to join me at the end of their trip, so we’ll have one full week together in Timber Forge before heading home to California.
But I’ve never been great at talking about my feelings, and Wren and I have stayed close even with the distance between us. Plus, I hate to worry her, especially now that she’s a new mom. I have firsthand experience with how exhausting being a twin mom can be.
I shake my head ruefully. “I’m okay, so you can stop worrying about me.”
She studies me for a few beats, opens her mouth, then closes it.
“You look like a fish,” I tease, but I know she’s weighing her next words.
“Listen, I’m gonna say something and I’m only saying it because I love you and think you need to hear it. Okay?”
“Is it gonna piss me off?” I joke. Sort of.
Wren shrugs. “Maybe. But you didn’t let me sit around and wallow in my indecision about Hank and Timber Forge when I wanted to.”
I point a finger at her through the screen. “First of all, I’m not indecisive. I make more decisions than I know what to do with.”
Shit. That was unexpectedly harsh. Why am I being so defensive?
Wren cocks a brow at me as if to say, ‘Are you finished?’
“I’m sorry. I’m an asshole.” I huff out a dramatic sigh. “Okay. Hit me with it,” I say, because she’s right. She and I have never sugar-coated shit, so what kind of friend would I be if I could dish out advice, but not at least listen to hers?
“Ever since you had the twins, you’ve been living for someone else. After Peter, you…closed off. You put on this brave face, but it’s like you’re afraid to put yourself out there. And babe, you deserve to have a life other than those boys. You deserve to be Ginger again.”
And I hate that she’s right. Because part of me doesn’t even remember who that is anymore.
“You sound like my mother.”
“Normally, I’d kick your ass for saying that,” she says pointedly, “but, in this case, I think she’s right. You haven’t been out with anyone in months.”
Twelve months. Not a single date in twelve fucking months.
She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “When was the last time you had sex? And I’m not talking about your drawer of many friends.”
“Hey, I happen to love my drawer of many friends,” I tell her, “and I don’t date because even if I had a steady sitter for the boys, the guys I meet are nothing but self-absorbed man children who care more about their investment portfolios than anything else and couldn’t find a clitoris if you gave them a road map. ”
Except one.
Nope. Nope. Nope. Don’t think about him. He’s still a self-absorbed man child. And okay, yes, not only did he find my clit, he knew exactly what to do with it when he did. But still. He’s…annoying. Even if he’s sexy and extremely well-endowed.
Wren laughs, but she has zero idea how hard it is to put yourself out there knowing you’ll likely be disappointed. She got lucky. After her relationship with her ex ended, she reconnected with her first love, and it’s been amazing to see her and Hank build something new together.
“You’re a great mom, babe, but you deserve to have a life along with taking care of your boys. They need to see you happy, too.”
“Yeah, well, you of all people are not telling me to put myself before my kids, Miss Twin Super Mom.”
She shakes her head. “No, no, I’m not. They’re still little. But I have Hank. We have a life together. Who do you have?”
“I have you,” I say without hesitation.
She hits me with another look.
I shrug. “What? I do. You’re my best friend.”
“Okay, yes, but I’m not there,” she chides softly. “Forgive me for saying this but you need to get a life, Ginger.”
“Okay, ouch,” I grumble and Wren grins apologetically.
“I’m sorry but sometimes the truth hurts. You have to start living for you, too.”
“I can live for myself when the twins are eighteen.”
The look she gives me is deadpan. “Babe, twelve years is a long time. What about after they’re all grown up? You gonna move to Montana and sleep on my couch?”