Page 130 of Rock Bottom Girl

“Amie Jo told her I was teaching the kids to play beer pong. Principal Eccles didn’t take the complaint seriously.”

“But she had to appease the beast by making a show of disciplining you,” she said.

“Exactly. Annoying but not life-threatening.” I realized that that’s how I felt about Amie Jo now. She was annoying. Irksome. A buzzy little gnat. But she and her feelings about me had no actual bearing on my life. I sat a little straighter in the seat. I, Marley Jean Cicero, was finally growing up.

“That Libby was one hell of a find,” Vicky said, changing the subject. “That girl’s footwork is National Team level.”

“Tell me about it,” I said smugly. “She seems to be fitting in with the rest of the team, too.”

Practice had gone well tonight. The girls were in good moods, a rare feat. And everyone enjoyed getting a little muddy running drills. There was something about being coated in dirt and mud that made us all feel like serious athletes.

When the rain had picked up, we’d called it an early night. Vicky and I had declared it to be a two-margarita evening. I finally had a little money in the bank and was ready to treat my lifelong friend and assistant coach to some bottom-shelf tequila. Afterward, Faith, Mariah, and Andrea were meeting us for dinner.

We sang along to the radio, a nostalgic nineties station, and I tried not to think too hard about the smell that was seeping into my clothing.

The restaurant was a cute little Mexican place in a mostly okay portion of Lancaster. A real estate agent would call it “up and coming.” I’d call it pretty shabby. But the fajitas were to die for, and they’d come really close to passing their last health inspection on the first try.

“So, how’s life?” I asked Vicky after we ordered our margaritas—mango for her, traditional on the rocks for me.

“You know, it’s pretty damn good,” she said, diving into the bowl of tortilla chips between us.

I raised my eyebrows. “You have three kids—one of which is an angry teenager—and a husband who’s on the road doing whatever he does for a living fifty percent of the time.”

She pointed her chip at me before biting into it. “Don’t forget a mother-in-law who lives with me and demands that I wash and fold her delicates in a very particular way.”

I gasped. “When did Rich’s mom move in with you?”

Vicky scrunched up her nose and thought. “Three years ago? Yeah. Right after Rich’s dad died.”

The margaritas arrived, and I took a guilty sip. I’d had no idea Vicky’s father-in-law died or that her mother-in-law had moved in with them. Granted, we’d drifted apart. But given the fact that she’d willingly jumped in to keep me from drowning with the soccer team, well, I felt I owed her a whole lot of back interest.

“I’m so sorry, V.”

She waved it away. “It’s fine. We make it work. And honestly, it’s nice having a third generation in the house. She doesn’t take any shit from Blaire and helps me out with the littles. I’m never going to be good enough for her son, but that goes with the territory.”

I sampled the salsa with a still warm chip.

“Did you guys always plan on three kids?” I asked, feeling like I was making awkward small talk with a stranger. I’d been absent from Vicky’s life for so long, I forgot that she wasn’t still a seventeen-year-old wild child.

She sucked down some mango margarita and nodded. “Yeah. Three was always the magic number. Of course Blaire was a bit of a surprise right out of college. But by the time we got around to the other two, she was a built-in mini nanny.”

“You seem really happy,” I observed.

She shot me a grin. “I am. I mean, I’m unemployed and driven insane daily by my family. But honestly, it’s a great freaking life. I’m surrounded by people I love every day. I’m watching these little weirdos that I created turn into people. My parents are minutes away. And Mama Rothermel is teaching me all about the kind of mother-in-law I don’t want to be.”

“It sounds pretty great,” I admitted.

“Yeah, well, I’m no Zinnia,” she said with a wink. “But I’m really, bone-deep happy. You know?”

No. I didn’t know. Nothing I’d ever done in life had given me that feeling. I’d been chasing it since forever. And the harder I ran, the farther away it seemed to get.

“Is this where you thought you’d be at thirty-eight?” I asked her.

“God no,” she snorted. “I was going to be a Broadway choreographer. Or a record label something or other. Oh! Or—”

“An MTV reality TV star!” We said it together, remembering our teenage obsession.

“What about you, Marley?” she asked. “How’s life these days? And by how’s life, I mean what does Jake look like naked?”