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Ziggy

I shouldn’t be madder with every passing day but I am.

And that’s what Goldie’s friends are meeting late Tuesday morning.

Angry Ziggy.

Have I ever been this mad in my life?

I don’t think I have.

“How did the interview go?” Goldie asks me as I slide into a round corner booth at Give Two Sips, her favorite wine bar in the Warehouse District. It’s a cool two-story bar with plants hanging from the ceiling and plush velvet seating. We’re a couple blocks from her and Fletcher’s place, and she has a ginger ale waiting for me.

Another time, another place, I’d be enchanted and looking forward to coming back when I can drink. A quick scan of the wine list tells me this place is excellent.

Right now, I’m too mad to care .

“It went well,” I tell her. “Thank you. Sincerely. I’m looking forward to getting back into the wine industry, and the owners are lovely people.”

She lifts her brows.

I snort and flop back in the booth. “My family hasn’t reached out at all aside from a single guilt trip asking why I’d pick a player over them, and if I wasn’t working in the main office for the team, they probably wouldn’t have reached out at all.”

“Even Miranda?”

I’ve been in constant contact with my sister. She’s amazing. “Miranda’s not family. She’s family . There’s a difference.”

Goldie smiles at me as an older white lady in a bright pink shirt slides into the round booth on the other side. She has shoulder-length white hair and a bright smile that shows off the depth of her crow’s feet, and I do a double take when I realize the logo on her T-shirt says Outlive Our Ex-Boyfriends Club . I’d guess she’s a few years older than my mom, maybe a full decade.

“The sidewalks are so busy today. Did I miss a festival announcement? In the middle of the week?” she says.

“Rain’s coming tomorrow and bringing a cold front,” Goldie replies. “It’s everyone getting one last bit of late summer sunshine.”

“I’ll go out in the rain. We need the rain. How’s your hip? Weather bothering it?”

“Barely achy. I’m good.”

“Good. You stay inside and make sure Fletcher spoils you.” She breaks out into a grin. “You know who won’t go out in the rain?”

“The Old Man Bikers Club,” Goldie says in unison with her .

The woman beams. “Exactly.”

“Ziggy, meet Sheila,” Goldie says to me. “She’s one of my three favorite BFFs.”

I gape at her for a moment before gathering myself and reaching across the table to shake hands with Sheila. “Nice to meet you.”

Sheila grins. “They didn’t tell you Goldie hangs out with us seasoned ladies, did they?”

I shake my head, picture Holt’s grin as he mentioned Goldie’s friends, and now I get it.

Another white woman, this one with light-brown hair cut in a bob, but the same crow’s feet, slides in next to her. “Are we meeting Goldie’s friend? Finally? Good. We need more young blood in this club. Hello, you gorgeous thing. I’m Evelyn.”

I shake her hand too. “Hi. I’m Ziggy.”

“I’m gonna get a hug as soon as we stand up, but I know better than to ask a pregnant lady to stand before she wants to. I actually got divorced once because my husband didn’t respect my need to sit while I was carrying.”

The enchantment is starting to win over the rage inside me, but it’s not the bar. It’s the friends. “I’m barely five months. I’m good.”

“Still. We’ll hug at the end. I’m so excited you’re here. Do you have any ex-boyfriends you’d like to outlive? Or any who have died and need alternative obituaries to those awful stuffy pieces they print in the papers?”

“These are your best friends?” I whisper to Goldie.

“My favorite people on the planet,” she confirms with a smile as she sips a wine spritzer.

“Even more than Fletcher is,” a Black lady in a matching shirt to the other two older women says as she, too, joins the group. “That boy…”

“That boy,” Sheila and Evelyn echo.

Goldie’s smiling so widely, I don’t question if I’m being pranked. She’s too happy. “Ziggy, this is Odette. She’s president of the Outlive Our Ex-Boyfriends Club.”

I shake Odette’s hand too. “How many more of you are there?”

“It’s just us three,” Sheila says.

“Goldie couldn’t handle us if there were more,” Odette adds.

“The world couldn’t handle us if there were more,” Sheila corrects.

“They adopted me after I found my ex-boyfriend cheating on me with one of my best friends,” Goldie tells me.

“Did you get to write his obituary yet?” I ask.

The three older women cackle.

Goldie’s grin glows even brighter. “No, but I did recently get the satisfaction of hearing they broke up when she was traded to a team on the West Coast and he refused to follow her since he likes to think of himself as the most successful one in any given relationship.”

“Traded?”

“Women’s soccer.”

“Goldie has more friends her own age now, but she still makes time for us,” Evelyn says.

“Because she knows who good people are,” Odette adds.

Sheila beams at all of us. “She likes our wisdom, and we like that she thinks we’re wise.”

“And hilarious and kind and generous,” Goldie adds.

This is the kind of relationship I would’ve loved to have had with my grandma .

Crap.

Dammit .

My eyes are getting wet.

Will my baby get this kind of relationship with my mom?

Or is there zero chance at all now that we’ll ever be the same?

Goldie slips an arm around me and squeezes. “Everything will be okay,” she whispers.

“We can pre-write obituaries for people who’ve pissed you off,” Evelyn says.

“Done it before,” Odette agrees.

Sheila shakes her head. “I don’t like to manifest that. Manifest that we live a long time, yes. Manifest that others intentionally die…that’s not my cup of tea.”

“We know, hon, and that’s why we love you.” Evelyn smiles at her, then turns the smile to me. “So what can three old ladies who know a little bit about this rugby team do to help you today? We have a lot of pull in certain places in the office, if you know what I mean.”

I somehow doubt they have more pull with my dad than I do. “Tell me I’m not making a mistake fighting to date a guy my parents are opposed to?”

It’s remarkable how three women can spring into action while sitting still.

“Your parents don’t like the captain?”

“What’s wrong with them?”

“He’s the nicest man. Do you know he once walked me to my car, holding an umbrella over my head while he was getting soaking wet, when I went to see training all by my lonesome because I was having a day and I needed to see some strong men beating on each other to feel better? And he even gave me a hug and told me I was going to be okay. And shew . Do you know what that man smells like? Like all the best things and all the best things that are bad for you, if you know what I mean.”

All of us stare at Sheila.

I do, in fact, know what Holt smells like.

Intimately.

And I like it, and I’m suddenly a little unsure what to think of Sheila liking it too.

“What?” she says. “I might be the sweet one, but clearly, I’m not dead yet. Let an old lady have a thrill once in a while. I didn’t make a pass at him. I just enjoyed that there are still polite young men out there in the world.”

Evelyn and Odette both grin at her.

Goldie hides her own smile behind another sip of spritzer.

“What’s your plan, hon?” Odette asks me.

“Wait them out.”

All three of the older women cluck their tongues.

“Bad idea.”

“You wait them out, they’ll wait you out longer.”

“Next thing you know, you haven’t talked to your parents in four years.”

And there go the wet eyeballs again.

I love my mom. I’m so grateful she found a man for herself who—until this weekend—was exactly who I would’ve hoped for her to find. Miranda’s stuck in the middle, and that’s not fair to her, even if she keeps telling me she’s not in the middle, she’s on my side.

And this isn’t how it’s supposed to be with them.

I’m supposed to be mildly frustrated that they want to do too much for me when I want to be more independent, and that’s it .

We’re not supposed to be fighting over me being capable of deciding for myself who I want to date and working with my partner to mitigate the potential consequences for the team.

“I’m thirty. Why don’t they trust me to decide for myself who I should and shouldn’t date? Why don’t they trust him to not let it interfere with the team? Players date all the time. How is this any different? He was already the team captain. He was already proving himself. I’m not dating him because he’s a rugby player. I’m dating him because he’s a good man who makes me feel safe and loved at a time when everything else in my life is falling apart.”

“I think it’s complete bullshit that they’re mad at you,” Goldie says. “It’s not like you’re dating Silas.”

The three older ladies murmur their agreement.

Tater Tot bubbles around in my belly like they, too, have an opinion.

I freaking love feeling my baby move.

It’s magic.

And all of the people in my life that I previously thought I’d call and squeal with about feeling my baby move aren’t in the circle of trust right now.

Abby Nora never will be again.

My mom could be, but— “I feel like a teenage brat throwing a tantrum over a boy.”

“You are not a teenage brat,” Sheila says. “You’re an intelligent, independent, worldly woman who knows what she wants. I knew my Sinclair was the love of my life five days after I met him when I was twenty-one, and we had twenty-eight beautiful years together. The people who are there for you when life is hardest are the ones who’ll be your favorites when life is easy. ”

“Exactly right,” Odette says.

“And god knows that man’s had a tough go of it too,” Evelyn says. “I’m sure he’s grateful for you every bit as much as you’re grateful for him.”

I swipe my eyes. I didn’t used to cry this much.

“We take care of each other.”

My mom wants to buy me a house, and Holt buys me potatoes.

Dad wants to give me a job, and Holt opened his house and heart to me and gave me a home and a dog.

My parents want what’s best, but they don’t ask me how I define what’s best.

Goldie’s phone audibly dings while mine vibrates inside the wristlet on my lap.

We look at each other, then both go digging.

She gets hers out first. “Oh, fuck .”

“Fletcher’s been a good influence on her,” Sheila whispers.

“It’s nice that she doesn’t censor herself anymore,” Odette agrees.

And then I have my phone in hand, opening it, to look at the text from Miranda.

Miranda: Dad just put out a call for candidates to be the new Pounders captain .

I make a noise. Possibly a squeak. Possibly a howl. I’m not sure which.

And then I’m moving.

“Ziggy. Wait. I’ll drive.” Goldie’s on my heels as I rise from the booth and head toward the door.

“We’ll get the check,” Evelyn calls.

“Text us the goss,” Sheila adds .

“Tell us if we need to suit up and ride,” Odette says.

“How—fucking— dare —he,” I gasp as I push out onto the street. Where’s the parking garage? Where’s my car?

Shit.

I can’t drive.

I’m too angry.

Where’s Goldie’s car?

“This way,” she says quietly behind me. “Three blocks. Call Holt.”

Call Holt.

Call Holt .

Oh god.

Does he know?

I trail her while I dial his number and wait for him to pick up.

He doesn’t.

My call goes to voicemail.

It goes to voicemail three times in a row.

“Oh my god,” I whisper to Goldie while we load up in a red sports car in her building’s underground parking garage. “He quit. He quit .”

“Did he tell you that?”

“No, but he’s not answering.”

“There’s approximately zero chance Holt would quit. Fletcher’s text didn’t say he quit, and Fletcher knows everything before it happens. Swear he does. Did Miranda tell you he quit?”

I shake my head as she starts the engine.

“Then he didn’t quit until he tells you he quit.” She eyes me before she puts the car in gear. “Even if he quit…that’s not going to fix things with your parents, will it?”

Dammit . “No. ”

“So we’re going?”

I nod. “We’re going. My parents’ house. I’ll talk to Mom first.”

I barely notice the city passing and the strip malls taking over and then the entrance to Heartwood Valley Estates.

I’m too busy staring at my phone after texting Holt to call me.

He hasn’t.

Goldie pulls the sports car into my parents’ circle drive in front of their three-story mansion, and I don’t wait for her to kill the engine before I’m out and racing for the door.

I burst inside the foyer and head for the living room, but no one’s there.

I check Mom’s office.

Empty.

The dogs aren’t even barking.

And then I hear it.

Voices.

Dad’s office down the hall.

I don’t pause.

I don’t think.

I don’t check a calendar, because why the fuck would I?

And that’s my fatal mistake.

That’s absolutely my fatal mistake.

Because it’s Tuesday.

And when I burst into my dad’s office, ready to go off like a banshee…

I find the two of them cuddling on his office couch.

Buck naked.