Count Your Lucky Stars: A Novel

Margot tossed her keys on the entry table and made a beeline for the couch, where she threw herself down and stared up at the ceiling.

Married.

Elle was getting married.

On a logical level, Margot knew she wasn’t losing Elle. She wasn’t losing any of her friends. But Elle was going to be someone’s wife. Even if Margot wasn’t technically losing anyone, it was still the end of an era, the beginning of a new chapter.

All her friends were settling down, and Margot? She had yet to find a brand of shampoo she liked well enough to commit to, let alone a whole person.

Olivia wandered into the living room, barefoot and soft-looking in her chunky cashmere cardigan and pink pleated skirt that barely brushed the tops of her knees. She nudged Margot’s feet aside and took a graceful seat, fingers skimming the skin of her thighs as she smoothed her skirt down with a brush of her hands. The pleats splayed open, the hem of her skirt rising several inches.

Margot tore her eyes away before Olivia could catch her staring.

“Are you all right?”

Margot lifted her head. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know.” Olivia frowned. “You’ve been quiet since we left the bakery.”

“Oh.” Margot let her head fall back against the arm of the couch. “No, I’m fine.”

Olivia nibbled on her lip. “If you say so.”

A beat of silence passed, then another, and another.

If you don’t reckon with your feelings, sooner or later your feelings are going to reckon with you.

Margot sighed. “Darcy cornered me coming out of the bathroom. She’s planning to propose to Elle.”

A bright smile graced Olivia’s face. “Really? That’s fantastic. Did she tell you when she . . .” Her words trailed off, smile faltering. “Wait. Is it not fantastic?”

Margot groaned and slipped her glasses off, setting them down on her stomach. She rubbed her eyes, pressing hard until colors burst behind her lids. “No, God no. That’s not—of course it’s fantastic.” She exhaled harshly and lowered hands, blinking into the brightness of the living room. Her vision blurred softly at the edges until she slipped her glasses back on. “I’m happy for Elle—and Darcy—but it’s just . . .” She swallowed twice, throat aching. “It’s nothing. Forget I said anything.”

Margot’s eye burned, her lids itchy, like the skin was too tight. Fuck.

Olivia’s fingers curled around Margot’s ankle, thumb brushing the bare skin along the inside of her foot. “It doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“I’ll sound like a bitch.” Margot choked out a laugh. “Scratch that, I am a bitch.”

A good friend would be doing a fucking happy dance when their best friend got engaged, and here Margot was, sinuses burning, signaling the impending rush of tears.

Olivia made a soft sound of dissent. “You aren’t a bitch, Margot.”

She took a deep, pained breath and pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes scrunching. “I’m happy for Elle. I am. But—fuck.” Her stupid chin quivered. “There shouldn’t be a but. I should be happy, full stop, no qualifier. Just over-the-moon thrilled that my best friend is going to be marrying the love of her life.”

“You’re allowed to feel more than one emotion at a time,” Olivia said, squeezing Margot’s ankle gently. The sweep of her thumb back and forth was soothing, soft without tickling. “It doesn’t make you a bitch.”

“I feel like it makes me a bad friend,” Margot confessed.

“You’d be a bad friend if you decided to take your feelings out on Elle or Darcy, if you let your feelings change your friendship with them.”

“I don’t want to do that,” she agreed. “That’s the last thing I want.”

For Elle to think Margot was harboring anger or resentment about her good news. To let her feelings get in the way of their friendship, to push Elle away.

“I guess that’s the thing,” Margot whispered. “I don’t want my friendships to change.”

“And you’re worried they will?”

“I don’t see how they won’t.” Margot sniffed. “Elle’s going to be someone’s wife, Darcy’s wife. And that’s—I am happy. They’re perfect for each other. Darcy’s everything Elle ever talked about wanting.”

Despite being total opposites, neither ever asked the other to change, to be someone other than exactly who they were. They loved each other, flaws and all.

“I’m just so used to being Elle’s go-to, you know? The person she calls when she needs someone to talk to, a shoulder to cry on, her best friend, and now . . .”

“You’re worried you won’t be that person anymore.”

“I don’t want to lose her,” she confessed.

Margot didn’t want to lose any of her friends.

“You’re right,” Olivia said. “Elle’s going to be Darcy’s wife, but you’re still going to be her best friend. It’s apples and oranges. No one else can bring to the table what you do.” Olivia’s lashes swept against her cheeks when she lowered her face, smiling softly. “No one can replace you, Margot. You’re one of a kind.”

“One of a kind, huh?” Margot’s voice shook, heart rising into her throat. “Like one of those imperfect pieces of produce in that subscription box?”

Olivia’s bright bark of laughter made Margot’s heart swell further. She shook her head, earrings dancing against the sides of her neck. “What are you talking about?”

“You know.” Margot scooted back until she was sitting, propped against the arm. She wedged her toes under Olivia’s thigh. “The ugly produce no one wants but there’s nothing wrong with it, so they created a subscription box to reduce food waste. Watermelons with weird scars and funky-shaped squash and curly carrots. Bell peppers with extra little offshoots, appendages that look awfully phallic.” She shrugged. “You said apples and oranges and my brain kind of ran with it.”

“You are definitely one of a kind,” Olivia teased, smile as soft as the fingers now tracing the tops of Margot’s feet. “I mean it. You’re irreplaceable, and I can promise you that your friends don’t want to lose you anymore than you want to lose them.” Olivia’s eyes locked on Margot’s, the intensity of her gaze sending a shiver skittering down Margot’s spine. Olivia’s shoulders rose and fell, her full lips parting as she exhaled, and for a split second Margot could’ve sworn a tiny fleck of gold foil still clung to her bottom lip. “Trust me. I’d know.”

Fuck. Margot’s chest throbbed like at any second she might bust open like a piñata, feelings pouring out of her like candy. “I missed you, too, Liv.”

Olivia’s lower lip wobbled, her teeth trapping it. Light from the corner lamp caught on—sure enough, a small piece of shiny foil.

“You have gold foil on your mouth,” Margot said, swallowing thickly when Olivia’s teeth scraped against the swell of her lip, leaving it plump and dark. “It’s from the cake, I think.”

Olivia ran her fingers along her lip line. The foil didn’t so much as budge. She looked at her hand and frowned. “Is it gone?”

“No, just—come here.” Margot leaned forward, hand shaking as she reached out, dragging the pad of her thumb along the satin swell of Olivia’s bottom lip. Lips still parted, Olivia’s warm breath tickled Margot’s knuckles and made her insides clench, heat pooling between her thighs.

The foil flecked off, transferring to Margot’s skin, and she quickly dropped her hand.

“All gone,” Margot panted.

Olivia’s throat jerked, the high crests of her cheeks flushed crimson. “Thanks.”

Margot’s pulse pounded in her head, at the base of her throat, between her thighs.

“Popcorn,” she blurted.

Olivia frowned. “Popcorn?”

Margot hopped off the couch, stomach swooping when she tripped on the fringed edge of the rug. She righted herself and wiped her clammy palms on her thighs. “Do you want some? Because I’m going to make some.”

Olivia worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “Sure. I guess.” She stretched forward for the remote. “I’ll find something on TV.”

Margot escaped to the kitchen and braced her hands against the counter. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She needed to pull it together. Get a grip. Her feelings for Olivia had fucked everything up for her once; she refused to let that happen again, no matter how badly she ached to press Olivia down onto the couch and feel Olivia tremble beneath her fingers, around her fingers. Fuck.

Margot clenched her eyes shut, but all that did was superimpose a hundred fantasies on the back of her lids. A running reel of memories. Her fingers curled around the kitchen counter until her knuckles turned white.

Olivia had always been tactile and a little bit of a flirt. It didn’t mean anything. Just because she’d wanted Margot once, for that one week eleven years ago, didn’t mean she wanted Margot again, wanted her now.

Friends. Margot sucked in a deep breath, air shuddering between her lips. She held it until her lungs ached and her heart kicked at the wall of her chest, then let it out slowly, shoulders dropping and heart rate slowing to something approaching normal. Friends. Margot could totally do friends. She was great at doing friends. Oh, Jesus. Great at being friends.

Reaching inside the cabinet beside the stove, Margot pulled out a bag of extra-buttery movie-theater-style popcorn. She ripped off the plastic, unfolded the bag, and popped it in the microwave, adding an extra thirty seconds because there was nothing she hated more than anemic popcorn, pale and with the kernel unpopped, the center hard enough to break a tooth.

When the microwave beeped, Margot divided the popcorn into two bowls, one for her, one for Olivia, no chance of buttery fingers brushing when they both reached in at the same time.

A little less hot beneath the collar, Margot wandered back into the living room, a bowl in each hand. “Find something? We can always look on Netflix.”

Olivia took her bowl with a smile, gesturing to the TV with the remote. “TMC’s running a Shirley MacLaine marathon.”

Margot curled up on the opposite cushion. Right now, the channel was on a commercial. “What’s on?”

Olivia finished chewing before answering, “The Apartment.”

“That’s a good one.” Margot sifted through the bowl, picking out the darkest pieces, little kernels burnt to perfection.

“You remember when you had mono?”

“Oof. Don’t remind me. I thought I was going to die that summer.” Margot cringed.

Olivia bumped her shoulder and when Margot turned, her eyes brightened. “It wasn’t all bad. We stayed in bed, remember? That part was nice.”

“You practically moved in with me.” Margot’s chest squeezed, hot and tight. “You even skipped cheer camp.”

Olivia had surrendered her spot on the varsity squad sophomore year just so she could spend the summer marathoning Turner Classic Movies from Margot’s bed. In between spells of feverish fatigue and moments of feeling like run-over shit, Margot was pretty sure she’d thanked Olivia. Now she wasn’t sure.

“Worth it.” Olivia grinned and slipped a fingerful of popcorn in her mouth, her lips already glossy with butter. Margot swallowed a pitiful mewl. She’d never wanted to suck on something so badly in her life.

The commercial ended with a jingle, and Margot faced the screen, heartbeat drowning out the sound of Shirley MacLaine bantering with Jack Lemmon.

Not even five minutes later, Olivia nudged her arm. “Here.”

Margot blinked. Olivia held out her bowl of popcorn. She’d scavenged for the extra-dark pieces, burned and black, pushing them to one side and leaving the pale, golden kernels on the other.

“I know you like the burnt pieces best.” Olivia swayed close, bumping their shoulders together. “Or, you did.”

Something fluttered in her chest, quickly followed by an ache, like pressing on a tender bruise. It hurt, but she couldn’t leave it alone.

“I do.” Margot swallowed hard. “I—not much about my taste has changed.”

Olivia stared, gaze flickering between Margot’s eyes and her mouth.

“Same,” she breathed.

Margot’s heart thundered inside her head, drowning out the sound of the television until it was nothing but static, senseless white noise. She clutched the bowl of popcorn to her chest, the plastic rim pressing into her sternum. “Is there something on my face?”

Olivia’s eyes dipped, her lids lowering and her lashes casting a shadow against the skin beneath her eyes. The perfume of her hair, honeysuckle sweet, clouded Margot’s senses as she leaned in and—since when had Olivia gotten so close? Close enough to make out the blue veins on her eyelids, and admire the slightly crooked line of her nose, the finely formed bow of her lush lips, and the dimple in her chin.

Margot held impossibly still, arms all but vibrating, shaking around the bowl of popcorn in her lap. She couldn’t make herself move; it was the closest to an out-of-body experience she’d ever had, watching as Olivia crept closer, the distance between their faces dwindling.

Olivia exhaled, breath blowing buttery and sweet against Margot’s mouth, a prelude to the press of her lips. Goose bumps broke out along Margot’s skin as Olivia’s lips pillowed against hers, soft and so brief. Before Margot could even shut her eyes, Liv had drawn away, lashes fluttering open, looking into Margot’s eyes, gaze dreamy and—

“Fuck.”

Olivia laughed, and something about that sound cracked Margot wide open. Before she knew what she was doing she had one hand wrapped around the back of Olivia’s neck, her bowl of popcorn toppling to the floor. She drew Olivia close and kept her there, sealing her mouth over Olivia’s, swallowing the little gasp that escaped her lips.

This was a bad idea, but Margot was—fuck, she was weak and she wanted. Wanted Olivia’s hands in her hair and Olivia’s mouth on her neck and Olivia’s body pressed snug against hers. She wanted and she craved and fuck it, maybe she was greedy, too.

But it was hard to remember all the reasons why wanting was wrong when Olivia’s mouth opened under hers, tongue sneaking out and dragging against the seam of Margot’s lips in the slowest, sweetest torture, offering herself up for the taking.