I heard Kimberly's boys laughing in the background, and she shushed them, holding her hand over the phone and speaking to them in Spanish, before coming back to me and saying, "My couch is always yours if you want it."
"I know. Thank you, Kimmy." I couldn't do that to my best friend, though. She and her husband, Andy, were squeezed into a tiny apartment in San Francisco with her four-year-old fraternal twin sons. Kimberly had gotten pregnant when she was eighteen and then learned the shocking news she was carrying twins. She and Andy had beaten the odds so far, but they hadn't had an easy time of it. The last thing they needed was their homeless friend sleeping on their couch and putting a strain on their family. Homeless. I was homeless.
I took a deep breath. "I'm going to come up with a plan, though," I said, biting my lip, a feeling of determination replacing the hopelessness I'd felt all morning. Grayson Hawthorn's face flashed quickly in my mind's eye. "Kimmy, do you ever feel like . . . a path is laid out in front of you? Like, clear as day?"
Kimberly paused for a beat. "Oh no. No. I know that tone in your voice. It means you're scheming something I'm going to try—probably unsuccessfully—to talk you out of. You're not considering that plan to advertise for a husband online are you, because—?"
"No," I cut her off, "not exactly, anyway."
Kimberly groaned. "You've gotten another one of your spur-of-the-moment, Very Bad Ideas, haven't you? Something completely ludicrous and most likely dangerous."
I smiled despite myself. "Oh stop. Those ideas you always call 'Very Bad,' are rarely ludicrous and seldom dangerous."
"The time you were going to market your own all-natural face masque from the herbs in your garden?"
I smiled, knowing her game. "Oh that? My formula was almost there. Right within reach, actually. If my test subject hadn't been—"
"You turned my face green. It didn't go away for a week. Picture day week."
I laughed softly. "Okay, so fine, that one didn't work out very well, but we were ten."
"Sneaking out to Carter Scott's party when we were sixteen—"
"Totally would have worked if—" I started to defend.
"The fire department had to come get me off your roof."
"You always were such a wuss," I said, grinning.
"The time you were home from college on summer break and hosted that Asian-themed dinner party where we all had to wear kimonos, and then you almost killed everyone there."
"An ingredient error. How was I to know you needed to be licensed to cook that particular fish? Anyway, that was forever ago."
"That was two years ago." She tried to deadpan, but I could hear the smile in her voice.
I was laughing now. "Okay, you've made your point, smartass. And despite all that, you love me anyway."
"I do." She sighed. "I can't help it. You're completely lovable."
"Well, that's debatable, I guess."
"No," she said firmly, "it's not. Your father's an ass, but you already know how I feel on that subject. And honey, you need to talk about what happened. It's been a year. I know you just got back, but you need—"
I bit my lip and shook my head even though she couldn't see the movement from the other end of the phone. "Not yet," I said softly. "And thank you for making me laugh for a minute there. But seriously, Kim, I'm in a very bad predicament right now. Maybe a Very Bad Idea is what I need." I couldn't help the small hitch in my voice at the end of my sentence. Kimberly never failed to lift my spirits, but truly, I was scared.
"I know, Kira," Kimberly said softly, understanding in her voice. "And unfortunately, if you're determined not to use any of your father's business contacts, you might have to get a waitressing job until you figure out what you're going to do."