All That Really Matters by Nicole Deese (new books to read TXT) 📕

media persona at all. Last Tuesday night, as we’d sprinkled cookie dough with the edible glitter Silas despised, we’d talked about all the happenings in the house—who hated what chores, which girls had known each other prior to The Bridge, and what they hoped for after they moved out. All normal life stuff.

I’d loved every single second of it. And based on how long they’d stayed in the kitchen with me after mandatory hour was finished, they’d loved it, too.

Monica’s gregarious giggle sailed over the grass as she shoulder-bumped Wren in response to whatever she’d just said. The sight of them together made my heart yearn for a friendship like that. One friendship in particular. Interestingly enough, that was the exact topic we were discussing in group this afternoon.

The girls took their seats at the picnic table, the day a perfect blend of heat, sunshine, and a light breeze that trailed under the shelter. Throughout the weeks we’d been meeting, Clara had gradually off-loaded more and more of the meeting responsibilities to me, though I’d yet to say the closing prayer. On the agenda we followed each week, the words lead group prayer taunted me like a playground bully. I’d prayed out loud before—of course I had—hundreds of times while growing up. And dozens of times since, mostly before an opportunity to expand my business. Although, I couldn’t recall the last time I’d done even that.

“Afternoon, ladies,” Clara said. “I have a special announcement I’ve been waiting to make all week: You’ve all been approved to attend my wedding in September.”

Amy and Monica let out a squeal, and the other girls reacted in their own more reserved ways. Everybody but Sasha, that is, who hadn’t stopped eyeing Wren since she sat down. I didn’t know what that was all about, but if wedding talk didn’t distract her, I didn’t know what would.

“And you can thank Molly for that,” Clara continued. “She’s arranged for special permission and transportation.”

Yet one more conversation I’d had with Silas recently.

“Aww, really?” Monica asked. “Thanks, Molly. Will you help us figure out what to wear?”

“Absolutely. I’ll start collecting some outfits now so that everybody has something special to wear on the big day. Maybe we can plan to figure out hairstyles when we do our big glam makeovers at the sleepover, too.” I glanced over at Clara. “It’s not every day the best mentor on the planet gets married.”

She tilted her head so that her dark, chin-length hair swished over her cheek and mouthed thank you. I knew it would mean a lot to her to have the girls there. Some of them had been with her for a couple of years.

She gave me a small nod to get started with group, and I clasped my hands and inhaled deeply. I opened our time with the icebreaker question from our handbook that had been swirling in my head for days: “What qualities do you look for in a good friend?”

As I asked it, I wondered if Sasha’s mood might soften with a little extra warm-up time. But based on the pointed glare she made no effort to conceal, my optimism died a quick death. What was up with her today?

The answers to the icebreaker question were kindness, compassion, authenticity, trust, and honesty. As the natural conversational lull occurred, indicating it was time to move on to the next question, Sasha piped up as she shifted her glare from Wren to Monica. “I’d like to say loyalty, but that seems to be a hard one for some people.”

Monica rolled her eyes, and for a moment, I wondered how far this tiff between them would go. Thankfully, in typical Clara style, she’d already slipped out of her seat to sit next to Sasha. She whispered something in her ear, and a second later, the two of them were walking away from the table to have a private conversation. Probably for the best. I’d witnessed a few of Clara’s talks. She had a gift for drama reduction.

“How about an example of a time when a friend helped or comforted you?” The questioned lingered for a few moments before Amy raised her hand. She was a practical girl with clear skin, no makeup, and an affinity for western wear, never seen without at least one pattern of plaid on her person and her trusty cowboy boots on her feet. “I broke my leg when I was in eighth grade. There was this girl at school who didn’t have many friends, but she was always kind. The whole time I was on crutches she carried my books to class, and then we ended up eating lunch together almost every day for the rest of the year.”

“That’s a great example, Amy. Thanks for sharing. Anybody else? Maybe something from the past like what Amy shared, or it can be something more recent, too.”

Wren glanced at Monica before addressing me. “Last week I had a friend volunteer to do my chores for me so I could get extra phone time talking to Nate. He was missing our mom and needed to talk to me.”

“Aww, that’s super sweet. A great example.” I gave Monica an approving wink, and she smiled in response and added her own story.

“Well, I have a friend”—she nudged Wren—“who helped me with a huge English assignment on a book I so did not understand at all. She stayed up late with me and walked me through all the symbolism my brain was refusing to get. But I aced it. And because of that, I passed the class. Thank God for that, too. No more English for me ever again!”

Jasmine and Wren laughed as Monica danced in her seat.

Gratitude rippled through my heart as a pang of another kind pinched my next intake of breath. I’d had that kind of friendship once, too, with Val. Sure, I hadn’t ever been with her in person. But it was real—our friendship. At least, on my side it had been. Had it been on