Mary’s bright blonde hair—pulled into two crooked french braids with barrettes holding back her bangs—swings as she looks from me to Etta and back. Her fingers dig into her thighs. “I would never do that,” she insists. “You’re an excellent boss.”
“Friend,” I correct.
Etta shrugs, and her own darker, wilder braids whip to the side when she turns her head to hide a pleased smile.
Oh, yeah. We’re so totally her friends.
Warmth suffuses me, and I reach out for their hands, squeezing each of them before letting go.
Mary swallows hard. “I know we haven’t known each other for very long, but I really hope that we can still be friends when you go back home with Mr. Swallow,” she says, “I don’t have very many friends, and the ones that I do have are…” She trails off with a wince. “They’re not the sort to have girls’ days. And I’m discovering that I reallyreallylike girls’ days. I like girls’ days with you, anyway. I don’t completely understand you, Maple, with the way you run from Mr. Swallow, or you, Etta, with howtough you make yourself be, but I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how it’s okay that I don’t understand, because maybe someday I will. And I’ve been thinking a lot about howsureyou guys are. You’re the most confident women I’ve ever met in my life. You’re strong and brave and not afraid to demand what you want.” Her eyes flick up, glancing at us in turn. “You two inspire me to be a little more brave in my own life—to maybe not demand what I want, but to ask for it at least.” She inhales, a loud, choppy thing. “I don’t want to lose that when you leave, Maple, and because of you, I’m willing to ask for what I want. I want to stay friends. I want more girls’ days, and more hanging out while you paint, and–” She addresses Etta. “–I want to laugh behind the counter with you at guests’ antics and have the kind of brightness to our days that we’ve had since Maple got here. I’d like us to be friends, even though you are my boss and I have to do what you say. That doesn’t bother me. I know you well enough now to know that you wouldn’t use anything I say during friend time against me during work time.” Her hands twist nervously in her lap. “So… Can we? Can we stay friends, even when this is over?”
Well. I suppose it’s okay to run over my heart with an eighteen-wheeler, yes. No, no, I don’t need a warning. I can just sob here for a minute afterward and we’ll be all good.
Etta, having much more composure than me, nods regally. “That would be all right with me,” she says hoarsely. She clears her throat. “And I suppose I would enjoy it if Maple kept in touch, too.”
Teary-eyed, I reply, “Of course! I’ve never had girl friends like this before. It’s always been Ivy or Birch for me, and I thought they were all I’d ever need, but getting to know you two has been such a spot of joy for me while I’ve been here. I love Ivy and Birch, but being here has really shown me how much I take for granted that they’ll always be around, and how that’s stuntedme from making other friendships in my life. I rely on them for all of my mental and emotional stability, and that’s not right. I need to be able to stand without them. I could do that on my own, obviously, but having you two to prop me up in the times when I stumble has been invaluable to me. The kindness you’ve shown me and the company you’ve given me mean the world to me. I would never leave you behind. No matter what happens with Ivy or where I end up, you two will always have a spot in my life.”
While Mary and I make an absolute mess of our face masks, Etta grunts. “Yes, yes, we’re all quite lovely friends now. Goodness, you’d think the two of you never experienced happiness or camaraderie before. Pull yourselves together, because if you get any of that gold on these white sheets, the laundry girls will kill us all.”
I laugh, sniffling, and exchange a mischievous look with Mary, who smiles warmly as she agrees with a shy nod. Then, together, we launch at Etta, one of us with more gusto than the other.
Etta screeches as we bombard her with our love, wiping our golden glow on her instead of her precious sheets. We tangle and pile and giggle until she joins in our joy, letting herself feel the fullness of our blooming friendship.
Mary sighs happily after Etta gives in, flopping to her back on the bed beside her. “Girls’ day is thebest,” she declares.
“Thebest,” I agree, doing my own flop on Etta’s other side.
Etta says nothing.
I elbow her. Then, when she doesn’t speak, I elbow her again, harder.
“Fine! It’s the best!”
I hum, content, and close my eyes. I commit this moment to my memory. Later, I’ll paint it—three copies. I’ll call themJoy, Peace, and Laughter, and if I have my way, they’ll hang in separate rooms of the same house.
My friends will be my friends, and I will be theirs.
Girls’ day forever.
Chapter Twenty-One
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Maple
We’re in the middle of watching a riveting rerun of a home renovation show when my phone lets out a muffled ring, interrupting Etta’s hilarious and cutting opinions of the on-screen professional’s decorating prowess.
“Don’t answer that,” Etta orders. “If I have to abide by the sanctity of girls’ day, then so do you.”
I snort, rolling off the bed to grab my phone from… somewhere. “It took half an hour to get you to agree to the sanctity of girls’ day.”
“Yeah, and now I’m agreed, meaning you should be, too.” Her nose wrinkles, at me or at the paisley curtains on the television, I’m unsure. “Oh, comeon.”
I follow the ringing to the mini-fridge and find my cell inside, lying balanced atop a can of root beer.
Fascinating.
“It’s Birch!” I say. “A certified girlie pop if ever there was one. Answering this phone call doesn’t break the sanctity of anything, I assure you.”