Georgie tightened her hoodie strings as she walked into the torture palace, also known as Fun ’n’ Flirty Fitness. She’d been inside this place once before for an introductory yoga class—and that time had also been her sister-in-law’s fault. Kristin couldn’t seem to stop getting certified in things. Yoga. Zumba. Life coaching. Seriously. Pick a lane. In Stephen’s ongoing quest to keep Kristin as happy as a frolicking bunny, he’d issued the demand for his sisters to make an appearance at Kristin’s first official night as a Zumba instructor. The timing could not be better.
She signed in at the front desk and moped down the hallway, wishing she’d gotten lucky and contracted malaria. An infectious disease was the only way Stephen would let her off the hook, although he’d probably still be pissed about her canceling. The Castle family operated by a strict set of unspoken rules that must never be tested. One, their mother was a saint and must be treated thusly and obeyed in all things, lest the sky come crashing down. Two, when their mother wasn’t around, Stephen was next in line to the throne. It had been that way since Georgie was a child, and even though she thought it was bullshit, following his directives was as deeply ingrained as the Bob’s Burgers theme music.
Georgie stopped in front of the dark, empty aerobics room, wondering if she’d gotten the day mixed up. No, no. It was definitely Tuesday. The day Travis was supposed to come over and help her realize her dreams of fireplace glory.
The pressure in her chest had been growing stronger since this afternoon. By now, it felt like a pair of pliers was digging into her heart. God, I’m such an idiot.
She’d worn her hair down and everything. Made a cheese plate. Cleaned.
Just thinking about it made her want to die.
In a burst of much-needed movement, Georgie slapped on the light in the aerobics room, tossed her duffel near the stacked mats, and plopped cross-legged in the center of the floor. Maybe Zumba would be good for her. She could sweat out some of the shame.
She turned her head and caught her reflection in the mirrored wall, jolting when she saw the girl with tearstained cheeks. A girl who’d cried for an hour over a man who thought of her as a dumb little sister, just like everyone else.
Georgie had stuck her business degree diploma in a drawer and become a clown for a reason. Making people laugh and spreading joy made her happy. Especially when it came to children. Perhaps her youngest-sibling status made her relate to little kids more. They were talked down to and dictated to about their wide-eyed naivete, just like her. Whatever the reason for her unusual career path, Georgie adored children and dreamed of having her own someday. Performing at birthday parties and bat mitzvahs never failed to be the highlight of her week.
She adored being a clown. She didn’t appreciate being made to feel like one, though, and it seemed to be happening more and more lately.
The twist in her chest intensified, just in time for Bethany to waltz into the room in a toss of blond hair and a flash of dazzling white teeth. “Hell? Party of two?” She dropped her black Chanel bag in a pile with Georgie’s ancient gym duffel, falling into a perfect stretch beside her younger sister on the floor. Effortlessly glamorous. That was Bethany. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure? You seem even more depressed than this situation warrants.”
“I said it’s nothing.” Georgie spread her legs in a V and crawled forward, enjoying the vicious tug in her hamstrings. “Shouldn’t the instructor be here first?”
“Changing the subject. Noted.” Bethany poked her in the side. “You have your period?”
“No.”
“Me neither.”
“Why even remark on it?”
Bethany shrugged. “Just making conversation until you tell me what’s wrong. You blow-dried your hair. I know it wasn’t for this shit show.” Bethany leaned into Georgie’s line of sight. “Tell me.”
“Travis didn’t show up to look at my fireplace today!” Georgie exploded, pressing fingers to the ache in her chest. “I don’t know why I expected him to remember. It’s not like it was set in stone. But he remembered brunch when no one else did. I thought . . .”
“Wait. Whoa, whoa. Back up. Travis who? Ford?” Bethany did an exaggerated double take. “What is wrong with your chimney and why is that philandering asshole going anywhere near it?”
“It’s my fireplace, not my chimney—and don’t call him that.”
“Why not? You didn’t go to high school with him, Georgie. He plowed through half the senior class. Before midterms. What happened after graduation is well documented. He more than lived up to the title of philanderer.” Bethany’s love-hate relationship with men showed through in most instances, but apparently hate was edging out love in her post-breakup state of mind. “He’s the one the assholes look up to. I know, because I’ve essentially dated all of his wannabes. It’s going to get even worse now that he’s back in town.” Visibly calming herself, Bethany tilted her head at Georgie. “But I digress. Please tell me why you’re fraternizing with Travis Ford.”
Georgie might regret unburdening herself in front of ballsy ball-breaker Bethany in the morning. Right now, though, the humiliation wouldn’t be contained. “I’ve been in love with him as far back as I can remember. Obviously there’s no chance of him being interested in me like that. I’m not delusional, but he seemed like he needed a friend and so do I. We hung out a few times.” She gave Bethany the sister death glare. “Nothing happened, so please don’t tell Stephen any of this.”
“Ugh. I knew you were going to say that.” Bethany tapped her fingers on her knees. “Really, though. He shouldn’t be sniffing around you in any capacity. Stephen would shit a Cadillac.”
“Everyone seems to think so.”
“Is this . . . Zumba?” asked a soft, hesitant voice from the doorway.
There stood Rosie, Dominic’s wife, thus sealing Georgie’s utter embarrassment. Especially in the face of Rosie’s quiet but stunning beauty. In this garish light, Georgie was a paste monster, whereas the department store perfume girl glowed golden brown. She didn’t even have to wear a sports bra, just one of those spaghetti-strap tanks with a built-in panel that Georgie had always been too self-conscious to try out. Rosie pulled off the abbreviated attire with ease, but as usual, she seemed a little uncomfortable in their company. Possibly because her husband was an employee of their family business. At the annual Brick & Morty picnic, Georgie had exchanged small talk with her—and God knows, rumors of her marriage being on the rocks had reached everyone—but they’d never really had an in-depth conversation. She’d always regretted that. Especially since Rosie seemed to lack confidantes, just like her.
“I could just . . .” Rosie tucked her loose black hair behind her ear and backed into the hallway, shoulders hunched. “No big. I can wait out here.”
“No,” Georgie called, desperately trying to dry her eyes with the sleeves of her hoodie. “Come in, Rosie. How much did you hear?”
Every line of her body uncomfortable, Rosie came in and perched slowly on the stack of mats. “Oh. A little.”
“All of it, huh?”
It took Georgie, distracted by their newcomer, a moment to realize Bethany had gone dead silent. She returned her attention to her sister to find Bethany frowning. “Is this why you wanted help picking clothes? Sounds like you might be hoping for a little more than friendship.” Bethany shifted. “You should have told me the truth.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call us confidantes.”
In a million years, Georgie never expected her sister to seem so devastated. Bethany swept through life without a hair out of place. Her role at Brick & Morty was to stage houses, and the final product never failed to elicit gasps from potential buyers. Books stacked according to color. Tasteful pendant lighting. A bowl of buttered croissants and a vase of fresh flowers on the table to make people feel at home. Georgie’s sister never missed a beat, except when it came to choosing men. Right now, though, under the hellish glow of aerobics lighting, Bethany looked like she’d been struck dumb.
“You make a joke out of everything, Georgie. It’s hard to tell sometimes whether you’re genuinely upset or being sarcastic. But I’m your big sister.” Her voice was just a touch uneven. “You’re supposed to come to me with this shit, especially—but not limited to—unrequited love.”
A wrench dropped in Georgie’s stomach. “I’m sorry. But it’s not like you talk to me about your male-related fiascoes, either. I have to hear it from Mom.”
Bethany stared. “I’m embarrassed by them. Every man I date either cheats or can’t commit. Or is already way too committed to his mother. Or PlayStation. I might break up with them, but I’m still being rejected. It’s not exactly something I want to talk about.”
“I would love to hear about your embarrassment.” She waved a hand when Bethany arched a blond brow. “You know what I mean.”
Her older sister chewed her lip, appearing thoughtful. She laid a hand on Georgie’s arm, leaned to the side, and nodded at Rosie. “If you’re finished trying to sink into the exercise mats, you’re welcome to join us, Rosie. Georgie only bites if you take the last strip of bacon.”
“I was four years old,” Georgie complained. “Let it go, already.”
Rosie moved so quietly Georgie didn’t know she’d decided to come closer until she dropped gracefully into a cross-legged position, putting the women in a triangle facing one another. “This seems like a private moment . . .” Rosie hedged.
Bethany waved her off. “Oh, stop. All three of us have man trouble. It’s not a secret.”
The rich brown of Rosie’s skin deepened with red. “It’s not?”
“No,” Georgie muttered, shooting her sister a look. “No, it’s not, but no one is going to force you into admitting it. We came to do Zumba, not group therapy.”
“It’s true.” Rosie kept her attention on the ground, but her fingers were trembling where she kept them laced in her lap. “I’m married to a man I don’t even know anymore. We sleep in the same bed—when he doesn’t fall asleep on the couch—and he’s a complete stranger.”
Bethany and Georgie traded a look of surprise. Rosie usually kept herself detached when they were in a group setting together. To be fair, the Castles never shut the hell up long enough for someone new to speak. But this admission from Rosie was unusual to say the least.
“I’m sorry you’re dealing with that,” Bethany said. “Do you guys fight?”
Rosie barked a laugh, then slapped a hand over her mouth to cage the sound. “He’s barely talked to me since he came back from Afghanistan,” Rosie murmured, dropping her hand. “It’s hard to find things to argue about in all that silence. We mostly avoid each other. It’s easier.”
“Easier than what?” Georgie asked.
“Finding out it’s over, I guess.” As if becoming aware of her surroundings, Rosie shifted on the floor. “I didn’t mean to make this about me.”
“It’s about all of us,” Bethany said slowly. During Rosie’s admissions, Georgie had sensed her sister growing more and more fidgety. Now she seemed antsy enough to break-dance. “Look at us, ladies.” Bethany jumped to her feet, jabbing a finger at Rosie and Georgie. “Three smart, hardworking women, moping on the floor all for the same reason. Men. They’ve failed us. But I’m willing to bet we’re shouldering all the blame. God knows Travis and Dominic and my collection of shit sticks aren’t sitting around, wondering where they went wrong. No, they’re out having beers and consoling themselves with YouPorn.”
Georgie raised a hand. “To be fair, that is also my preferred method of consolation.”
Rosie snort-laughed into her wrist.
“What is your point, wise elder?”
“My point is . . .” Bethany dropped to her knees, taking each of them by the shoulder. “Fuck. Them. We should be out having beers and shrugging off their feelings. We should be the ones deciding what we want in our relationships, friendship or otherwise. Not waiting around for these bitch-asses to get over themselves and see what’s in front of them.”
When Bethany started this passionate tirade, Georgie had been all prepared to laugh. She couldn’t deny a winded sensation in her chest now, though. Like she’d run far and fast and landed on this floor. The wry smile on her face had fled. Bethany was right. While Georgie had been crying into herbal tea and angrily sorting clown makeup earlier this evening, Travis hadn’t been thinking about her at all. What was the freaking point of all this sadness? It didn’t change the course of history or make a dent in Travis’s man brain. It had no point.
Travis didn’t owe her anything. Deep down, she knew that. But him blowing off their appointment was just another disappointment in a long line of them she’d learned to live with. From her family. Her friends who’d moved away and started calling less and less. The drop in business. She’d allowed everything to happen because she was afraid of proving that she was nothing more than the inconsequential last in line to the throne.
“Let’s end this now,” Bethany continued. “Right here, right now. Let’s fucking liberate ourselves. Not only from brother-mandated Zumba, but from the dudes bringing us down. Let’s start making decisions that don’t land us in this state of mourning.” She waggled her eyebrows through a dramatic pause. “It’s time to fix ourselves up, ladies. Because look around. We’re alone here. We’re more alone with them in our lives than actually being alone.”
“And since we’re alone anyway, we might as well be alone and moving forward. Making ourselves happy.” Georgie nodded. “No one else is going to do it.”
“Yes.” Bethany let out a slow breath and squeezed Georgie’s forearm, reaching for Rosie’s as well. “A club. I’m proposing a club for women, of which we’re the founding fucking members. We all want things. Let’s go get them together.”
“I can’t . . .” Rosie blurted out, shaking her head. “I agree with everything you’re saying, but I’m not in the same position. He’s my husband.”
“You’re right. You have a different situation.” Bethany ducked into Rosie’s line of sight and smiled. “But you can still be in the damn club. There must be something you want, Ro.”
Rosie took a moment to answer, but her chest began rising and falling faster. “I’ve wanted my own restaurant. Argentinian. For my mother’s side.” She shook out a laugh. “I’ve never told anyone but Dominic and we haven’t spoken about it in years. It’s like he forgot.”
“But you didn’t forget,” Georgie said.
“No. No, I think about it every day.”
Close friends or not, Georgie couldn’t stop herself from reaching over and taking Rosie’s hand, relieved when the other woman didn’t hesitate to cling. She didn’t know a lot about Rosie’s past, but she remembered the small Argentinian woman Rosie used to squire around town, along with her father—an African American man named Maurice who’d owned a local auto body shop. He’d since passed, too. Bethany took Rosie’s free hand, linking the three women where they sat on the floor. “What about you, Bethany?” Rosie asked. “What do you want?”
“Me? I’m giving up on men. Full stop. I’ve been shafted for the last time.” She wiggled her blond eyebrows. “I want to swing a sledgehammer.”
That shocked a laugh out of Georgie. “What?”
Bethany sighed. “I’m tired of just making things pretty. Been sick of it for a while, actually, but our brother won’t let me set foot into a project until it’s ready to be staged.” She snapped her teeth at an invisible Stephen. “We took over the business from Dad together. I’ve been doing this just as long. I want my own projects. If Stephen won’t give them to me . . . I’ll figure out another way to get them.”
Georgie shook her head. “I had no idea. I thought you loved staging.”
“There are a lot of things we don’t know about each other. Let’s fix that,” Bethany told her softly. “Can you forgive me for having my head up my ass?”
“Yeah,” Georgie managed, hope fluttering in her chest. “If I can forgive you for the tie-dye hand-me-downs, I can forgive anything.”
Bethany laughed. “Good.” They traded a smile. “And I do love staging. But I want more. I want to look at a house and know its bones. If I’m ever going to do that, I have to build them myself.” She nudged Georgie with her knee. “And you, little sis? What’s your big dream?”
Moment of truth. “I like being a clown.” Georgie shrugged, allowing her ideas to transform into actual words. Possibilities. Something she’d never done before, except for scribbles and drawings in a spiral notebook, never to be voiced aloud in case someone told her she was too young or too naive. Or just ignored her altogether. “But I turn away half my business. I’m either already booked or they want a balloon maker, too. Pony rides. If I want to stay viable . . . or work anywhere outside Port Jeff . . . I have to expand. Turn my one-woman show into a full-time entertainment company.”
Bethany squeezed her hand. “What’s stopping you?”
No one takes me seriously. I was afraid everyone would laugh. “Nothing, I guess,” Georgie said instead, having made more progress tonight already than she thought possible. “So, when is our first meeting?”
“Let’s not lose momentum.” Bethany appeared to flip through a calendar in her head. “How about Friday night? Seven o’clock at my place. I’ll have tequila on hand and we’ll come up with a name, you know, just to make it official. But most importantly, we’ll figure out a way to reach our goals. Together alone.”
“Together alone,” Georgie and Rosie echoed in a whisper.
They let go of their linked hands, stacking them like pancakes in the center of the triangle.
“I could save this until Friday night, but I’m very clever and I’ve already thought of a name,” Georgie said, beaming at the other two women. “Just Us League on three. And let’s hope DC Comics doesn’t come after us for copyright infringement.”
Rosie and Bethany laughed and they threw up their hands. “Just Us League.”
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Kristin squealed, rushing into the room. Georgie and Bethany’s sister-in-law floated like an early Disney princess, humming to herself and catching the light with her diamond earrings. She was a ball of sunlight and southern gentility. Until you pissed her off or she didn’t get her way. Hence Georgie attending her Zumba class even though she’d like to be sitting in front of the television with a nice cheese plate. If Georgie skipped the class, Stephen would suffer the consequences, and it was only a matter of time before the fallout trickled down. Once, Georgie declined a fresh-baked muffin from Kristin because it contained lemon zest. Which was gross.
Kristin put those little yellow rinds in everything for six months.
“Your brother is very handsy after a few beers,” said Kristin. “I didn’t make it through the kitchen before—”
Georgie groaned. “We don’t need to know.”
“Very well,” Kristin said primly, hooking her iPod up to an adapter. She swiped across the screen and a Latin beat pumped into the room. “Who’s ready to Zumba?”
The three of them rose to their feet like cranky zombies, but managed to get through the hour without taking a flying leap through the plateglass window onto the street to escape. Georgie couldn’t help but feel . . . energized after class ended, though, and it had nothing to do with suggestive hip movements. Starting tomorrow, things were going to change.
First order of business? Fix her own damn fireplace.
And maybe get a new haircut in the name of symbolism.
