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Rosalie sighed.
“It was a joke,” she said. “God, you’re very sweet but you weren’t that mind-blowing in bed as a seventeen-year-old.”
“Yes I was.” Savannah raised her eyebrows.
Rosalie rolled her eyes. “Shut up and let me drink my wine,” she found herself smiling.
Eventually though, Savannah got sucked back into her busy life. She had a wife, after all and two small children to care for. That was without considering her heartbroken nanny, the little sister out wandering the world, a multi-million dollar business empire to run and Brynn’s tour planning now starting to reach its zenith. Rosalie just had work, and Lemonade, so she tried not to mind it too much when her phone went silent. It’s not like she was lonely.
She had other friends. She pushed herself out the door to catch up with Travis for a beer and Georgia for a coffee. She did not start pottery or learning French, but she did keep rock-climbing, enjoying the way her arms started to get toned and strong. Mid-life crisis be damned.
Hey
Rosalie frowned at her phone, turning off her television. She sat in semi-darkness, the quiet seeping in. An odd feeling welled up inside her as contemplated the unknown number interrupting her silent night.
Who is this?
Her phone buzzed again. A photo. Squinting, expecting an unsolicited dick pic from a stranger, she tried to look at it and not look at the same time. Then she grabbed her phone up close and stared at it properly.
A lock of dark shining hair spilled over a golden brown shoulder, the very edge of a woman’s face just out of frame. She was, teasingly, barely in the shot, but Rosalie would know her anywhere.
She gasped and found herself on the edge of irrational tears all of a sudden. She was utterly lost for words but pressed the photo until the heart button came up to love it. Wiping her eyes, she stared at the screen.
She watched, with her real, actual heart in her throat as three little dots appeared.
Where’s my pic? Maybe I got a digit wrong, I could be talking to anyone.
Rosalie grabbed her phone and took a photo at the exact same angle Kinsey had. There was a glimpse of auburn hair, but it was mostly a photo of a fuzzy pink robe. She couldn’t help her grin as she sent it.
Rosalie, oh my god, I didn’t ask for nudes
Rosalie laughed out loud and immediately sent a photo of what would have been her breasts, if not for the extreme coverage of pink fleecy robe.
Is it wrong that I still have a pavlovian response to that robe?
How did you get my number?
Your best friend gave it to me the morning I left
Rosalie gasped. That conniving, interfering, infuriating… perfect human.
Don’t murder her
It did take me six weeks to decide to use it after all
Where are you?
Seattle. It’s raining. No serial killers yet though
Rosalie had had enough. She picked up her phone and called her. Kinsey picked up on the first ring.
“Oh,” Kinsey said by way of greeting, “this might be the first time I’ve actually been aware of our age gap. You can’t just go around calling people, Rosalie.”
Rosalie laughed. “I wanted to hear your voice,” she admitted.
Kinsey went quiet.
“And how is it?” she asked. “As good as you remember?”