Both girls are wearing jeans and casual shirts. Pippa’s blonde hair is braided, while Summer wears hers in a messy bun at the base of her head. Neither wears makeup. One thing I love about girls’ nights in? How casual we all are.
Summer finishes preparing the guacamole at the same time the quiche is cool enough to eat. Let the feast begin.
We carry the food and the wine to the living room, and the girls make themselves comfortable on the couch. I sit on the ottoman so I can look at them. An hour later and three glasses of wine down each, we sit on the floor, scooping guacamole with the chips, reminiscing about that one time six years ago when we wanted to have an extended girls’ weekend in LA where their cousin, Valentina Connor, lives, but the car’s navigation system wasn’t working, and we ended up getting lost.
“Lesson learned: we never let Pippa drive again,” Summer exclaims.
Her sister elbows her playfully.
“Oy! You could’ve pointed out I was heading to the Pampas before I drove a hundred miles in the wrong direction.”
Summer grins. “True, but I was too busy gossiping with Caroline.”
We’re soul sisters, Summer and I. Gossiping with the girls is one of my favorite activities to relax, along with discovering a great TV show and binge-watching it, lying in a hot bath, and spoiling Daniel. Not necessarily in that order. The three of us burst into giggles, and I laugh until every limb in my body feels lighter.
Once we’ve calmed down somewhat, we all talk about our jobs. I always had a secret crush on Pippa’s job as designer at Bennett Enterprises. The jewelry she makes is just breathtaking. I might lead a low-key lifestyle, but a girl can feast her eyes.
Summer works at an art gallery and paints as well. I have one of her paintings hanging in my bedroom—sunlight reflecting on a tranquil sea. It’s a brilliant sight to wake up to.
As we down the last of the chips and the quiche—which goes amazingly with guacamole, as it turns out—Summer says, “Caroline, we haven’t officially talked about you and Daniel at Halloween, but this means you’ve got two more weeks of information to share. We’re all ears.”
Pippa holds up a finger. “I’ll bring the ice cream first.”
“And teaspoons. They’re in the drawer to the left of the oven,” I instruct.
Once we’re armed with teaspoons, we eat the ice cream directly out of the carton, and I launch into a detailed account.
“Damn girl,” Pippa exclaims when I stop to catch my breath. “You’re on a roll.”
I’m basking in this moment. Ah, how I have wished for this day—when Dan and I would be together again, and his sisters would poke their noses into our business, dissecting every little thing.
“Well, how can you overanalyze everything with me if you don’t know all the details? So, I demand honest honesty—”
“Honest honesty? This wine is strong,” Summer interjects, inspecting the label on the empty bottle.
“Shh, don’t interrupt or I’ll lose my nerve. Do you think Linda’s right and I’m too trusting? I keep saying that I’m taking this one day at a time, but I’m doing the opposite. I’m jumping in with both feet. But I’ve wanted Daniel to be mine again so badly for so long that I’m not even sure how to do things differently.”
Ugh, now I’ve done it. I hadn’t meant to say the last part out loud.
“Wow. This is the first time you admit you’ve wanted to be back with him all along,” Summer says, absently moving her teaspoon around in the ice cream carton.
I could try to downplay it, but they’d see right through me. “I didn’t want to admit it even to myself. I knew how pathetic I’d sound.”
“Wanting to be back with someone you love doesn’t make you pathetic. It makes you human.” Pippa straightens up, crossing her legs in a yoga pose. “And back to your question, no, you’re not too trusting. You know better than anyone what you have with Daniel. Linda is your friend, but I don’t like how she talks about men. I bet even if she had a perfect partner, she’d still find something to complain about. Daniel’s not an asshole. And I’m not saying this just because he’s my brother.”
Summer snickers. “Yeah, you are. Admit it, you’re biased.”
“Of course, I’m biased. But my bias comes from thirty years of studying my brother. It’s rooted in observation.”
“Because poking your nose in someone else’s business is foolproof scientific evidence,” Summer says.
Pippa clumsily climbs back on the couch, rubbing her hip. “Floor’s too hard. I can’t feel my ass anymore.”
“That might be the wine’s doing,” I inform her solemnly.
Pippa tilts her head, as if considering this. “You’re such a great friend. And you make my brother happy. You should be a Bennett already.”
Oh man, oh man, that sounds so good. So, so good.