Fuck this. She was thirty-two. It wasn’t 1950. She could call him. Although he might just want to be out of the minefield of all this stuff with George Hibbert. Just a massive mess that he didn’t want to be involved in.
But they were supposed to be going to this barbeque on Saturday, and she had absolutely no idea of any details at all. Unless he didn’t want her to come anymore?
Well, only one way to find out.
He was immediately online and those three dots flashed back and forward accusingly for way too long.
In the end, he called.
‘Hey,’ she said.
‘Hey, sorry, look…’ He sounded urgent and well, quite frankly, a bit weird.
Laurel’s shoulders drooped. Was this the ‘let’s just be friends’ speech? The ‘I really like you, but as a friend’ conversation?
‘Yeah?’ she said, warily.
‘I’ve just had a call from Lucia. She’s going to be there this Saturday and I wanted you to be prepared.’ His words rushed together.
‘Lucia? Your ex, Lucia?’ On one hand her heart perked up at the fact it wasn’t the ‘we work together, so let’s still get on’ speech, but Lucia? Gorgeous, exotic, worldly ex-girlfriend Lucia? Just. Fucking. Great. ‘Why would I have to be prepared?’
‘Do you know more than one Lucia?’ he asked, sarcasm popping through.
‘No, just checking,’ she said lightly.
‘I told her you were coming with me, and she seems to think that we’re together. I told her we’re not, but she won’t take no for an answer. Jess, as well,’ he said, his words all mashing together, ‘she will think we’re together. I just want you to be prepared, there may be a lot of gushing and hinting.’
‘Oh.’ What was she supposed to say to that?
‘My friends can be a bit much, and I completely get it if you don’t want to come.’
Perhaps she shouldn’t go. But now it was potentially being taken away from her, she realised how much she was looking forward to being off the farm, away from Lower Houghton, away from all the pressure and stress. Just being herself for an afternoon, and not Boss Laurel, Stressed Laurel, Farm Laurel, EVERYTHING Laurel.
‘No, I was looking forward to it. But if you don’t want me to, I can stay home. It’s okay.’
‘You should come, Laurel,’ he said. ‘Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.’
She laughed at that. She was big enough to look after herself.
‘Right, well, okay. I’ll see you on Saturday then,’ he said. ‘I’ll pick you up at 11:30am?’
‘Okay, see you then.’ Laurel waited. The hesitation on the end of the line was like he wanted to say something more.
‘Bye.’
He ended the call.
Uh, what did he mean, he’d pick her up? He didn’t have a car here. She wasn’t even sure that he could drive. Not her problem.
Now the agonising worry of what to wear. She dialled Rebecca who didn’t answer, so she texted her instead.
She smiled at the nostalgia because this was exactly what going on dates was like in uni – her and Rebecca deciding what to wear over pizza the night before and gossiping about whoever she was seeing the next night.
Her phone buzzed with two different messages.
Lucia at university was next level. She didn’t walk, she floated. She was ethereal, beautiful, intelligent. Perfect. Her and Nate had been the perfect couple, but they weren’t together now, and he and Laurel were nothing more than friends. He had made that abundantly clear. So, it didn’t matter that Lucia was there. Didn’t matter at all. Besides, Laurel was moderately attractive, wasn’t she? She was a successful (kind of, sometimes) businesswoman, and she was proud of herself for what she had built at Little Willow Farm. Just because she wasn’t a world-famous archaeologist didn’t mean that she was a failure.
No. She could do this. She could rub shoulders with Nate’s successful friends.
