“That’s a pretty tall order. How are you gonna make all that happen?” she asked, handing me a napkin. “Wipe your mouth.”
“Thanks,” I muttered. “I have no fucking idea, but I will succeed . . . or die trying.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Um, thanks. Do you mind if we leave here so I can chain smoke ‘til I throw up so it will be easier to quit?”
“Is that the method you’re going to use?” Gemma asked, scooping up our unfinished ice cream and tossing it.
“I know it seems a little unorthodox, but I read it worked for Jennifer Aniston.”
“Really?”
“No, but it sounded good,” I said, dragging her out of Hattie’s.
“God, Astrid,” Gemma groaned. “Whatever you need to do I’m here for you, but you have to quit. I don’t want you to die. Ever.”
“Everybody dies,” I said quietly, reminded that the woman I loved most had died only a week ago. “But I’ve got too fucking much to do to die any time soon.”
Chapter 1
Three months later . . .
“There are ten thousand ways to express yourself creatively,” I huffed, yanking on my running shoes. “My God, there’s acting, painting, sewing, belly dancing, cooking . . . Shit, scrapbooking is creative.” I shoved my arms into my high school sweatshirt that had seen better days.
“You’re not actually wearing that,” Gemma said, helping herself to my doughnut.
“Yep, I actually am.” I grabbed my breakfast out of her hand and shoved it in my mouth. “And by the way, I’ve decided to be a movie star.”
“But you can’t act,” my best friend reminded me.
“That’s completely beside the point,” I explained, taking the sweatshirt off. I hated it when Gemma was right. “Half the people in Hollywood can’t act.”
“Don’t you think it might be wise to choose a career that you actually have the skills to do?”
“Nope, I told you I’m making changes. Big ones.”
I bent over and tied my running shoes. Maybe if I just ran forever, I would stop hurting. Maybe if I found something meaningful, I could figure out who in the hell I was.
Gemma picked up my soda and took a huge swig. “You’re an artist and a damn good one. You should do something with that.”
“Yeah, maybe,” I said, admiring my reflection in the microwave. Holy hell, my hair was sticking up all over my head. “Why didn’t you tell me my hair exploded?”
“Because it’s funny,” Gemma laughed.
“I’ll never make it in show business if people see my hair like this,” I muttered and tried to smooth it down.
“Astrid, you will never make it in show business no matter what your hair looks like. You may be pretty, but you can’t act your way out of a hole and you suck as a liar,” Gemma informed me as she flopped down on my couch and grabbed the remote.
“Your confidence in me is overwhelming.” I picked out a baseball cap and shoved it over my out of control curls. “If the movie star thing doesn’t work out, I might open a restaurant.”
“Did you become mentally challenged during the night at some point?” she asked as she channel surfed faster than any guy I ever dated.
“Gimme that thing.” I yanked the remote away from her. “What in the hell are you trying to find?”
“Jersey Shore.”
“For real?” I laughed.
“For real for real,” she grinned.
“Don’t you have a home?” I asked.
“Yep. I just like yours better.”
I threw the remote back at her and grabbed my purse. If I was going to be a famous actress, or at the very least a chef, I needed to get started. But before I could focus on my new career, I had business to take care of. Very important business . . .
“Where are you going?” Gemma yawned. “It’s 8:00 on a Sunday morning.”
“I’m going running,” I said, staring at the ceiling.
“Oh my God,” Gemma grinned, calling me out on my lie. “Astrid, since when do you run with your purse?”
“Okay fine,” I snapped. “I’m going to run a few errands and say goodbye forever to one of my best friends today.”
Gemma gaped at me. Her mouth hung open like she’d had an overdose of Novocain at the dentist. “So today is the day? You really going to end it?”
“I don’t really have a choice, since there’s so much damn money riding on it.”
“Oh my God,” she squealed and punched me in the arm. “I’m so proud of you.”
“Don’t be proud yet,” I muttered, praying I’d be successful with my breakup plans.
“You didn’t have to take the bet,” Gemma said.
“Yes, I did,” I said and shook my head with disgust. “Nothing else has worked. Voodoo has to.”
“Voodoo?”
“Yep.”
“Good luck with that.”
“Thanks,” I said as I slapped on some lip gloss. “I’m gonna need it.”
“Yes, you are,” Gemma grinned. “Yes, you are.”
***
It was hot and I was sweaty and I wondered for the umpteenth time if I was losing my mind. I needed to stop making bets that were impossible to win. Maybe I could be a social smoker or I could just hide it from everyone. I could carry perfume and gum and lotion and drive to the next town when I needed a nicotine fix.