She says it to remind herself more than anything else. She really needs to get her head right, at least for the next little while.
“Okay, so one more circuit of the room and we go?” he suggests.
“Let’s do it.”
She turns in his arms and grabs one of his hands to lead him just a few feet away, where a tall blonde white woman is standing with a large glass of white wine. Frankie – Francesca Sullivan – her childhood best friend. She grew up next door. She’s impeccably dressed as usual, in a loose-fitting silky blouse and a bright blue pencil skirt (Dodger blue, she runs the team’s analytics department like a total boss). She’s also wearing the sharp gaze of someone very, very recently divorced.
Frankie takes a long sip from her glass as she looks them over carefully. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“Frankie!” Bianca scolds.
Bright blue eyes roll. “Listen, I’m sure you two love each other very much and all that bullshit, but I just got the fuck out of my miserable marriage and I do not recommend the institution, zero out of ten, would never go back.”
“To be fair, you married a massive shithead.”
Xavier lets out an amused snort.
“In my defense,” Frankie says, “Shane wasn’t a shithead when I married him.”
It’s Bianca’s turn to roll her eyes and then she says, mostly to Xavier, “He was very much a shithead andsomeonewould not listen to anyone when we told her he wouldn’t grow out of it and then that very same someone threatened to stop speaking to me if I ever brought it up again. And I have refrained from saying ‘I told you so’ until right now, which I think is admirable restraint on my part.”
“I did, didn’t I?” Frankie admits, with half a smile.
“You did.”
“Remind me to always listen to you. So, you’re sure this one isn’t a shithead?”
“Oh, I’m absolutely a shithead,” Xavier cuts in, with a smile that Frankie returns, “but we’re working on it.”
“He cooks breakfast, so it evens out.”
“Never mind, you’re right. If he cooks, absolutely lock that shit down.”
“This is what I’m saying.”
“I’m gonna go get a refill, either of you want one?” Frankie says and at their noes, she wanders toward the drinks table.
“Did you meet Isobel yet?” Bianca asks, nodding toward a petite woman with long dark braids and warm brown skin a few feet away, standing, unfortunately, with her husband. That’sone person she actually wished hadn’t shown up tonight. “My freshman roommate,” she clarifies as they approach the couple.
“From Berkeley,” he finishes for her.
“And her husband, Matt. High school sweethearts.”
“That’s still a thing?”
“Very much so.”
When they’re just a few feet from the other couple, Isobel reaches out and starts wiggling her fingers toward Bianca’s left hand. “Let me see!” she demands. “Ugh, gorgeous. Antique?”
Xavier tilts his head and Bianca can tell he’s impressed. “Turn of the century. Uh, nineteenth to twentieth.”
Isobel hums her agreement. “It’s lovely. Bianca, it suits you.”
“Izzy knows her jewelry. She’s a stylist.”
“I’m so thrilled for you, truly. You’re going to be so happy,” she says, putting a hand on the small bump at her stomach which had been disguised by the drape of her blouse until now.
Bianca’s smile wavers. “I’m already happy.”
