Chapter One
The Girlfriends’ Sixteenth Anniversary
Emily Proctor poured each of her girlfriends another frozen daiquiri. Midori daiquiris, to be precise. And, if one was getting picky about such things, they weren’t really just girlfriends, they were The Girlfriends. Sworn to be there for each other through thick and thin. Together by choice, forged by sixteen years of school and parents and boyfriends and…oh, just everything.
“I shouldn’t be drinking this,” Lily said, but only after she’d taken a really big swallow. “I have to take JT to soccer at eight in the morning.” She shuddered dramatically, making her impromptu ponytail wave back and forth. “The sitter can’t. She’s going to Dallas first thing tomorrow.”
“Why don’t you call Glen Cassidy…? He has to take Cody, so maybe he’ll pick up JT, too.”
Lily turned to Hope Francis. The polar opposite of Lily, Hope was five foot one to Lily’s five foot seven, and Hope had dark hair, almost black. It was trimmed in a dramatic sort of pageboy. Really angular, though. On her, it worked. She looked exotic, especially with her Winona Ryder eyes, made smoky by the liberal use of black kohl and powder. Not to mention the fire-engine red lipstick, which was mostly on the rim of her glass. The problem with Hope, at least in her own eyes, was that she looked about seventeen, and it drove her insane.
Lily smiled broadly as she uncurled her legs and got up off the couch to follow up on that excellent advice. “That’s why we keep you here, Hope. Because you’re beautiful and brilliant.”
Hope smiled demurely. Then she burped. Loudly.
Everyone cracked up as Emily crawled back on the hotel room bed and scrunched the pillow beneath her. It was so good to be together like this. All of them. Hope, Lily, Sam, Zoey and Julia. The Girlfriends.
They’d met in Mrs. Mann’s fifth-grade class, at Sheridan elementary school. They’d bonded over their outrage at Paul Morrison’s obnoxious game of pulling up their dresses on the playground.
Emily wondered for a moment what had happened to Paul. But that wasn’t important. What was important was that the six of them had come together like pieces of a puzzle. They’d all fit.
As she sipped her drink, Zoey turned the topic to her hair, as she did every year, complaining that it was too red, too curly, too hideous to be shown in public. It was utter nonsense, and the rest of the girls told her so. Every year.
“It’s wonderful hair,” Samantha said. “Very Nicole Kidman.”
Zoey sighed. “Yeah. Wouldn’t it be nice if I also had her body? And her face?”
Julia smiled wryly. “It would be even nicer if you had her husband.”
Zoey, who was sprawled in the chair across from the couch, turned to Julia. “Oh, really? You like him?”
“What’s not to like? That smile. Those eyes. That tight little behind…”
“He’s too short,” Lily said, coming back from her phone call to plop down on the couch again. “I like them tall. Tall and strong and kinda wiry.”
“No kidding?” Julia said, but Emily and everyone else in the room knew she was being sarcastic. Lily had always been specific about the man she was going to marry. Although she never admitted it, her perfect man was one Jesse Hyatt, who had been in high school with them. He’d never given Lily the time of day, unfortunately, but she still considered him the epitome of masculine perfection.
“I,” Lily said, sniffing her displeasure, “have certain standards, which some of you are sadly lacking.”
A great hue and cry came from the floor, the couch, the chair, the bed. Emily laughed. “Oh, please! This from a woman who got knocked up at age sixteen?”
“JT is the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Lily said, and from her tone, Emily realized she needed to back off. Most of the time Lily joked with the rest of them about her unorthodox family, but sometimes, like when she’d had a little too much to drink, she could get pretty defensive.
“Sorry, kiddo.” Emily stood up so she could get some cookies. They’d each brought food for the weekend, and as far as Emily could tell, there wasn’t one nutrient in the bunch. They’d concentrated on the three basic food groups: chocolate, chips and cream filling.
Julia snorted in a most unfeminine manner. “Maybe we’d believe you had this non Jesse Hyatt ideal if you’d actually go out on a date. I’ve got news for you. You can’t get your virginity back, no matter how long you hold out.”
“I’m not holding out,” Lily said. “I just haven’t met the right man yet.”
“At least you’re not alone,” Hope said with a sigh. “You’d think one of us would have found Mr. Right by now, wouldn’t you?”
Zoey
