Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125117 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 626(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Greta took a moment to be amused at the notion of wandering around the community garden lambasting all the plants that hadn’t flowered yet for being losers. But she took Muriel’s point.
“You’re right, of course. And you were a huge piece in my flowering, if we’re continuing this metaphor. Thank you so much, Muriel. Meeting you changed my life.”
Greta couldn’t be sure, but she thought Muriel might have dabbed at her eyes when she turned to survey the room.
“You changed mine too, Greta,” she said, turning back.
“I did?” This had never occurred to Greta.
Muriel nodded somberly. “I wasn’t feeling at all well the morning you poked your head over my garden wall. I was feeling rather sorry for myself, in fact.”
“For what?” In all the time she’d spent with Muriel, Greta had never seen her anything but upbeat and future-oriented.
“Oh, well. For being old, for being alone, for being ineffectual. The usual. But the point is that you were a surprise. You reminded me that there still were surprises that could happen to me. And that I still had something to offer. You can’t know how essential that is—to feel as though one still has something to offer. And I hope it isn’t too terribly patronizing to say that I’m very proud of you.”
Greta bloomed. She threw her arms around Muriel.
“Thank you. Also, I’ve never said this because I thought it sounded weird, but you’re the most glamorous person I’ve ever met.”
Muriel’s tinkling laughter glittered through the room as someone grabbed Greta’s shoulder.
“Hey, bitch! Good work.”
Ramona was wearing white linen overalls and a black bandeau, big red hoops, and platform boots, and she was smiling.
“Hey, thanks for coming!”
“Wouldn’t miss it. This shit is delicious, by the way. I subscribed.” She pointed to the lemonade.
“That’s awesome, thank you.”
“So how’s your shiny new life going?” Ramona asked. She looked even more pleased with herself than she usually did.
“Very shiny indeed. How are you?”
“Two for two,” she mused, smiling.
“Huh?”
“Oh, just both you and Truman. I’m amazing.”
“You are? I mean, you are, but…why are you?”
“Duh, who do you think was Gossip Girl here?”
“I never watched it.”
Ramona rolled her eyes. “You and Truman? Both of your lives sucked shit, but you were too scared and complacent and nice”—she said nice like she was saying covered in pustules—“to do anything about it. So you needed a little fairy godbitch to, uh, motivate you.”
Greta laughed. “Well, thanks for your fairy godbitching. I hope you’re proud of yourself.”
“Oh, I am. I’m very proud of myself. You wouldn’t even believe the altars I had set up for the two of you,” Ramona muttered almost to herself. “You think it’s easy to get two self-contained introverts to do anything that involves meeting or contacting other people?” She made a phew gesture of effort. “No, no, I don’t need any thanks for my toil. I’m just glad you’re both happy now.”
“What do you mean, altars?”
Ramona waved that away. “Just don’t worry about it, and enjoy your new life, Greta Russakoff, resident of New Orleans and lover of Carys.”
Like Carys was a magic word, Greta broke into a grin. Whatever Ramona thought she’d done, Greta didn’t really care. She had the woman of her dreams, friends she adored, and a life that felt like it was just beginning. She hugged Ramona hard, and when they let go, Ramona winked at her and slipped into the crowd.
The launch was a success by any measure. They got thirty-two subscription orders, myriad social media coverage, and two restaurants that were interested in contracts for their lemonades to feature in cocktails. By the time Veronica and Helen stood on the bar to thank everyone for coming, they were out of drinks and the moon was high.
Veronica and Helen were elated and, after they cleaned up, left with some friends for another party. After they waved goodbye, Greta took Carys’ hand, and they strolled out into the night.
“I’m so proud of y’all,” Carys said. And for the second time that night, Greta felt something inside her grow toward the sun. “How do you feel?”
The air was redolent with jasmine and cigarette smoke and the river. Greta pressed her free hand to her heart and felt its steady thump.
“I feel fucking alive. I feel…I’m proud of myself.”
As she uttered the words, she realized it was the first time. She had been relieved to finish college, felt satisfaction at paying her own rent right out of school, but she had never known what it was to truly feel pride in herself until she moved here.
Greta stopped walking.
“Holy shit, this is where—”
Carys looked up at her and nodded. Her smile was radiant in the moonlight.
It was the spot over the river that they’d visited the day they met.
“You wanna?”
They both grinned and scrambled up the stairs, giddy with joy and sentiment.