Текст книги "Some Sort of Crazy"
Автор книги: Melanie Harlow
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Текущая страница: 1 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
Copyright © 2015 Melanie Harlow
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews.
This is a work of fiction. References to real people, places, organizations, events, and products are intended to provide a sense of authenticity and are used fictitiously. All characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and not to be construed as real.
Editing: Tamara Mataya
Proofreading: Angie Owens, Amanda Maria
Cover Photography: Franggy Yanez, Love N. Books
Cover Design: Jenn Watson, Social Butterfly PR
Cover Model: Brandyn Farrell
Formatting: Caitlin Greer
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?
~ Mary Oliver
I blame the vodka.
My sisters and I were out celebrating—oldest sister Jillian had finished her pediatric residency and gotten a job, middle sister Skylar was recently engaged and planning a fall wedding, and I’d just moved into my adorable dream house. It was only about eight o’clock but we’d consumed three dirty martinis apiece in the last hour and a half. Since we’d eaten nothing but the stuffed olives in our cocktails, we were functioning somewhere between Shhhh Don’t Tell Anyone I’m Drunk and Oops I Missed the Barstool.
We managed to get out the door on our feet, sideways with arms linked, and I’m pretty sure everyone in the place was glad to see us go, since everything was hilarious to us and our laughter had grown increasingly loud and obnoxious.
“We need Uber,” announced Jillian, breathless from giggling. Her hair was a mess—when she’d arrived at the bar it had been tucked into a pretty chignon but several rounds of arm wrestling had shaken it loose. She had spilled something on the front of her peach blouse too, right on her left nipple. It looked like she was leaking. “No way can any of us drive.”
“We need food,” I said. “Let’s walk down to O’Malley’s for a burger.”
“Good idea.” Skylar hiccuped. “Then I’ll call Sebastian to pick ush up.”
“Ush?” I elbowed her as we started walking down the sidewalk three abreast. But my tongue felt a little numb too.
“Hey, look!” Jillian stopped walking, but since we were still all connected we yanked her forward a few more steps and she stumbled. “Is that for real?” Detangling her arm from mine she pointed up to the second story of an old Victorian brick building.
I looked up and squinted at the hand-painted block-lettered sign in the window.
PSYCHIC MEDIUM
FREE READING!
OPEN LATE TONIGHT!
Skylar gasped. “Let’s do it! Let’s get a psychic reading!”
“No, I’m starving.” And my bladder was suddenly at max capacity. How had I not noticed it three minutes ago? Vodka was insidious.
“Well, I want to.” She looked around for a way into the building and took off for a narrow wooden door between two storefronts.
“Sky, you’re already engaged! You don’t need to know your future. It’s Happily Ever After, The End.” I hopped from one foot to the other and tried not to think about lakes and rivers and gushing waterfalls, which were of course all I could think about.
Skylar pulled the door open and looked over her shoulder at me. “So you get the free reading. Maybe she’ll tell you whether Dan’s going to shit or get off the pot.”
“Dan and I already planned to get engaged this year. I don’t need a psychic for that.”
“You did?” Rolling her eyes, she went on, “God, you guys are so boring. OK, maybe she’ll see a tall, dark, handsome stranger on the horizon for Jillian!”
“I’m in.” Jillian made a beeline for the door and slipped through it.
Groaning, I gave up and followed her. If two of us wanted something, the third always ended up giving in. I hadn’t meant to let that slip about getting engaged. It did make things a little anti-climactic if everyone knew it was coming…nothing like Sebastian’s impromptu airplane proposal to Skylar. But then, Skylar was an impromptu kind of girl. I was more of a planner, and I sort of liked the knowing-but-not-knowing…the added anticipation of each date we went on this summer. Every time I got dressed, I’d think, Will this be what I’m wearing when I say yes?
Because of course I’d say yes—that’s how a love story ends. We’d been together for ten years with only one bad rocky patch last summer when I’d discovered a dick pic on his phone. I wasn’t snooping—it was an accident. I was looking for a shot he’d snapped at my birthday dinner, innocently scrolling through his photos, and there it was. It was definitely his junk, and I knew he hadn’t sent it to me, so I felt justified in glancing at his texts after that. Why take a picture of your dick unless you’re going to send it to someone, right? Dan is a bit self-indulgent and egotistical sometimes, but I didn’t think he’d take that photo just for kicks.
Sure enough, he’d sent it to a girl at work, amidst a whole flurry of flirty activity. When confronted with it, he’d admitted to some “minor indiscretions,” the details of which I hadn’t wanted to know. He said they didn’t sleep together, begged forgiveness, and promised to try harder, and after some thought, I forgave him and we moved on.
After all, ten years was a long time, and I hated to think we’d wasted it on each other if we weren’t going to make things work for the long haul. All relationships take work. Plus, I loved him and he loved me. We knew each other inside and out. We were comfortable together, had the same dreams for the future, had the same taste in music, sports, and takeout food. Those were important things, right? People had probably gotten married for worse reasons. Dan and I were compatible. Comfortable. Certainly not as passionate as we once were, and way less hot for each other than Skylar and Sebastian, but after ten years together, is it even possible to sustain that?
I asked myself that question a lot.
A lot.
“Come on, Nat. It’ll be fun!” Skylar thumped me on the back as I passed her. “Live a little, why don’t you! You’re always so fucking sensible.”
“I’m not being sensible, I’m being hungry. But fine, whatever. I hope the psychic has a bathroom otherwise I see wet pants in my future.” Marching through the door, I followed Jillian up the narrow staircase beyond it. “It smells like cat pee in here,” I whispered. At least I tried to whisper, but I was still inebriated so it came out a little louder than intended, and Jillian shushed me.
At the top of the stairs were two doors. The one on the right said 2B, but the one on the left had a sign on it:
Madam Psuka
Psychic, Medium, Clairvoyant, Intuitive
Palm Readings, Dream Analysis, Spiritual Channeling, & Numerology
FIRST READING FREE*
*does not include Spiritual Channeling
Jillian sighed. “Fucking spirits. So expensive all the time.”
I laughed, crossing my legs at the ankle and squeezing my thighs together. “That’s it. No one make any jokes until I find a bathroom.”
“Do you think you pronounce that P in her name?” Skylar wondered. “Like, is it Madam Puh-suka?”
“No.” Jillian looked back at Skylar with what we call her You’re Dumb and I’m a Doctor face. “You don’t say puh-sychic, do you?” Suddenly she looked down at the big wet spot on her boob. “Shit. When did that happen?”
Moaning in agony even as I laughed, I bent my knees and cupped my crotch as Jillian knocked. “I’m going to wet myself. I’m totally puh-serious.”
Immediately the door opened and an acrid, smoky smell drifted into the hallway. The woman who’d opened the door looked nothing like what I’d imagined a psychic medium would look like—no purple turban or chunky gold jewelry or flouncy ruffled skirt. In fact, she looked more like an evening newscaster: blond helmet hair, too much makeup, horn-rimmed glasses. She was barefoot and wore jeans and a flowy black top.
“Velcome,” she said in a thick accent. At least she sounded like a medium. She looked at each of our faces as we tried to stop snickering and appear presentable, which wasn’t that easy since I was still holding my crotch, Jillian was trying to cover her left nipple, and Skylar hiccuped. “Hm. Three sisters.”
Skylar poked me in the back, as if she were impressed, but I thought we looked enough alike that anyone could tell we were related, even though Jillian was dark-haired and built more like our dad, tall and thin, while Skylar and I were blonde and curvy like our mom.
“I am Madam Psuka,” she said grandly, pronouncing the P. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Skylar poke Jillian in the shoulder. “Vould you like reading tonight?” Madam Psuka’s eyes narrowed. “I am getting verrrry strong energy from you.”
“Yes.” Skylar clapped her hands.
“Vonderful. Please to come in.” The woman stepped aside and we entered a small, dimly lit front room. I was about to ask vhere the bathroom vas when color and texture and warmth bombarded me. The walls were covered in tapestries, rugs, and blankets in every imaginable hue and pattern. The windows overlooking the street were covered in dozens of sheer jewel-toned scarves, several of which billowed in the early summer breeze. In front of them was a round table covered with a Moroccan print cloth with a chair on each side. The floor was covered by faded Persian rugs in tones of ruby and gold and coral, and large square pillows in royal blue, hot pink, lime green, and leopard print lined the walls. On every available surface not covered with books, and sometimes even on top of the books, candles glowed—most inside lanterns, but some in glass holders or simply set on a plate. From the ceiling hung swooping strands of beads and charms and other trinkets, criss crossing the room clothesline style, and in the two front corners were huge green plants. My eyeballs hurt.
“Wow,” said Skylar, turning in a slow circle. “This is amazing.”
“Thank you,” replied Madam Psuka, although the foreign way she pronounced the “th” sound made it sound more like tank you, which was highly appropriate tonight. She shut the door. “I am not here very long, but I try to make the space my own.”
“It’s beautiful,” Skylar gushed, then hiccuped. “I love all the colors and patterns together. Very bohemian.”
I made a face at Jillian and she wrinkled her nose. She and I had more understated taste than our fashionably trendy middle sister.
“What’s that smell?” Jillian asked.
“Is burning sage. I just finish smudging.” Madam Psuka sounded pleased with her puh-self.
“What’s smudging?”
“Is ancient practice used for clearing away negative energy and purifying a space. You are very lucky to be my first reading after is done.” She gestured toward the rug. “Please have seat.”
“Can I please use your bathroom?” I asked, fidgeting uncomfortably.
“Of course. Is right over there.” She pointed toward the small galley kitchen, and I found the bathroom right across from it. There was no door, just a curtain of beads, but at this point I didn’t care. After relieving myself of what seemed like fifty pints of pee for every ounce of vodka I’d consumed, I washed my hands and joined my sisters and Madam Psuka on the rug, where they were all sitting cross-legged in a circle like Story Time at the library.
“She’s going to do a short reading for each of us!” squealed Skylar.
“Normally I do only one reading per group for free,” explained Madam Psuka. “But the energy is so good tonight that I feel the spirits vant me to be generous.”
“Wait. Are there spirits here in this room?” Jillian asked, glancing over her shoulder.
“Of course.” Madam Psuka gave my oldest sister a You’re Dumb and I’m a Medium look. “Spirits are always among us.”
A cool shivery feeling crept up my back, despite the warmth in the apartment from all the rugs and blankets and candles. Right away I shook it off. Get a hold of yourself. There’s no such thing as spirits or ghosts or even psychics. This is all just for fun.
“So who is first?” Madam Psuka looked from one sister to the next.
“Me,” said Jillian, scooting closer to the medium. “I’m the oldest, so I should go first.”
Skylar and I exchanged a look. How many times had we heard that before?
Madam Psuka nodded and took Jillian’s hand in both of hers. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply, and appeared to be concentrating very hard.
“Should I think about anything in particular?” Jillian asked, and my heart ached a little. I knew how badly she wanted to meet someone.
“Just relax. Let your mind wander naturally. Let energy of life flow through you.”
Jillian closed her eyes and the room went silent for a moment, the only sound the sizzle of the candlewicks and the medium’s breathing. Her nose made sort of a whistling noise, and I had to hide my face in my shoulder to keep from laughing.
Then she spoke. “Are you dirty?”
For a moment, I was on the verge of cracking up until I realized she meant thirty, but didn’t pronounce her th’s very well. Still, I had to hide my face in my shoulder to stifle the laugh.
“Yes.” Jillian sounded amazed. “I am thirty. And I was just thinking about my age.”
“And you are caretaker—no, something stronger. You are healer.”
Skylar gasped and my jaw fell open. Had we said anything about Jilly being a pediatrician? I didn’t think we had. Could this woman have guessed?
“You are strong, sympathetic, generous.” Madam Psuka spoke confidently, in amazingly good English considering it wasn’t her first language. “You are always willing to carry more than your fair share of the load. You are loyal and trustworthy. You are often critical of others, but very hard on yourself. You have tendency to be controlling, and sometimes you meddle, especially if you think you know best.” Madam Psuka paused and opened one eye. “Is this accurate?”
“Yes,” Skylar and I said together.
Jillian glared at us as the medium went on. “You value visdom and compassion above all.”
“Thank you,” said Jillian, fidgeting a little. “Is there anything else? Anything about my career? Or my love life?”
“I cannot direct the energy,” said Madam Psuka. “It reveals at its own vill.” She was quiet for a moment. “But I do see children. Many children.”
“Many?” Jillian said, her eyes going wide. “How many?”
“Hundreds.”
Skylar laughed. “It’s probably your patients, Jilly Bean.”
“Oh.” Jillian’s shoulders slumped, and she took her hand back. “Right.”
I felt sorry for her and reached over to pat her shoulder when she scooted back to sit next to me. We hadn’t really talked about it, but maybe Skylar’s wedding was kind of hard on Jillian. She was the oldest and the most traditional, and probably thought she’d be first to get married. She’d definitely talked about it the most as we were growing up. And now Dan and I would be next, and—
“Next?” asked Madam Psuka, jarring me a little. She was looking at me, too. It was as if she’d heard was I was thinking and was mocking me with the word.
“Me!” squealed Skylar, crawling over to sit directly in front of Madam Psuka and thrusting out her hand.
“Hmmm.” The medium closed her eyes and did the breathing thing again. Meanwhile, my stomach started growling like crazy.
“You are creative and expressive. Your energy is bright, warm, effervescent, and sparkling.”
Eyes closed, Skylar beamed, and Jillian and I exchanged an eye roll. How many times had we listened to people gush about our effervescent beauty queen sister? Good thing we weren’t paying for this.
“You value harmony, beauty, and pleasure, and enjoy sharing your talents vith the vorld around you. You live life to fullest, often vithout care beyond the present. I am getting feeling that you are not good vith money.”
I snorted, and Skylar sighed. “That’s true,” she admitted. “But I’m working on it.”
“Romantic love is verrry strong influence in your life right now, and it will remain so. Its energy surrounds you in almost protective fashion.”
“I’m getting married,” Skylar said breathlessly. “This fall.”
“Skylar! You’re not supposed to tell her that.” Jillian threw a hand up. “She’s supposed to guess it.”
Madam Psuka chuckled. “I might have guessed it. Is obviously very strong bond between them.”
“Anything else?” Skylar said eagerly.
“Just the feeling of calm. I believe you are entering new phase of your life that will be long-lasting and peaceful and happy.”
Skylar practically floated back to her spot on the rug. “Your turn, Nat.”
I scooted in front of the medium and held out my hand.
“A skeptic.” Madam Psuka sized me up correctly.
“Maybe I am a little skeptical,” I admitted. “But what the heck? I’m here.”
She took my hand and held it between both of hers, closing her eyes and inhaling deeply. Within seconds, I felt a sort of humming sensation in my arm, and it was more than a little disconcerting. While both of my sisters had closed their eyes during their readings, I kept mine open.
“You are organizer, planner, manager. You are dedicated and idealistic. Vhat you conceive in your mind you are able to achieve because you are practical, talented, and villing to vork. You know how to get a job done. But you may appear stubborn because once you make a decision, you follow it through to the end, right or wrong.”
“Wow,” Skylar breathed. “That’s so right on.”
I bristled a little. Following through wasn’t being stubborn; that was tenacity.
“You must be careful not to get too caught up in the daily routine, because you might miss opportunities that—oh. Oh my.” Madam Psuka frowned and she gripped my hand tighter.
“What?” My heart thumped a few erratic beats. “What do you see?”
“It is…” She muttered something in another language, maybe Polish. “It is total chaos. As if your entire life is turning upside down.”
“What?” Jillian spoke up behind me. “Why?”
Madam Psuka turned her head to the side, forehead furrowed. “Because of man.”
“Wait, man in general? Like mankind?” I asked.
“No. Vun man.”
“Vun man?” Jillian repeated. “What is that?”
“One man,” I clarified, relief easing between my shoulder blades. I mean, duh. It was the imminent proposal, of course. It was my boyfriend of ten years.
“Is his name Dan?” Skylar blurted.
“I don’t know his name.” She opened her eyes and looked at me. “And neither do you. He is a stranger.”
Jillian clucked her tongue. “Oh, that is so unfair. Natalie gets the handsome stranger?”
“No. Don’t be ridiculous.” I pulled my hand back from Madam Psuka and stood. “Thank you very much for the readings, but we should go now.”
“You are very velcome. I hope you come back again.” She rose to her feet, as did my sisters.
We said goodbye and clomped back down the stairs, Jillian broody, Skylar dreamy, and me determined not to let some fake hocus-pocus ruin my night. A stranger was going to upend my life? What the hell? There was no way! I’d worked way too hard to get where I was, I had everything I’d ever wanted right in front of me, and no stranger, handsome or not, was going to change that.
Still.
I couldn’t help but vonder.
“That was fun,” Skylar said when we were seated at O’Malley’s twenty minutes later. She was across from Jillian and me, sitting cross-legged in the booth.
“That was absurd.” I picked up my water and chugged, although I was kind of tempted to order another drink. “She doesn’t really know what’s going to happen with any of us.”
“She might!” argued Jillian. “Look how she guessed all that stuff about us.”
I turned to her. “Come on, you’re a doctor. You believe in science, not magic.”
“Can’t I believe in magic too?” she asked wistfully. “I’d like to. She really nailed all our personalities.”
“Maybe,” I conceded, “but she knew you were the oldest, so she could have just spewed a lot of stuff about first-borns at you. And how hard is it to tell Glowy McSparkleface over here that she’s beautiful and happy?”
Glowy McSparkleface wadded up a napkin and threw it at me. “Party pooper. Come on, we’re supposed to be celebrating tonight.”
I sighed. “Sorry, sorry. You’re right.”
The server arrived and set down three plates loaded with fat, juicy cheeseburgers and thick, hand-cut fries. My mouth watered.
“I’m thinking of trying a paleo diet this summer to lose weight for the wedding.” Skylar announced this right before sinking her teeth into the doughy white bun of her burger.
“Ha! You’ll last less than a day.” Jillian poured ketchup onto her plate. “Trust me. I tried it last week. I didn’t even last the morning.”
“Why would you need to try it?” I looked at her incredulously. “You don’t have a spare ounce on you.” Skylar and I were always so jealous of Jillian’s naturally skinny frame. I swam endless miles every week to keep extra pounds off my short, curvy body.
“To feel better.” She shrugged. “I’ve heard people say they feel amazing on a paleo diet, but it was not realistic for me. I like bread too much. And pasta. And wine.”
“Yeah, the wine thing could be an issue for me, working for a winery and all.” Skylar set down the burger and dipped a fry in Jillian’s puddle of ketchup. “Maybe I’ll rethink it. So let’s talk about Natalie’s handsome stranger.” Her eyes went wide with delight. “Who could it be?”
“She didn’t say it was a handsome stranger, she just said it was a stranger.” I reached for the mustard and squirted some on the top half of my bun. “And it was a load of horse shit anyway.”
“You don’t know that. What if it isn’t?” Skylar waved a fry at me, a blob of ketchup dropping onto the table. “Everything else she said about you was spot on.”
I replaced the bun and took a big bite, chewing slowly as I mulled that over. Was it true what she’d said about me? That once I make a decision I follow it through to the end, whether it’s right or wrong? And wasn’t that admirable, anyway? Why was it stubborn to see your goals through? I was where I was in life because of determination and hard work. At twenty-six, I was a successful entrepreneur who’d started my own small business and managed it daily; a loyal girlfriend to my very first love; and a homeowner thanks to my wise investments and frugal living.
So why were Madam Psuka’s words so unsettling?
“Maybe ‘upended’ isn’t a bad thing,” I said hopefully. “Maybe it’s just big changes coming.”
“That’s true.” Jillian nodded enthusiastically. “She didn’t say the chaos was bad or anything. And no one can sort out chaos like you, Nat.”
“Thanks.” I gave her a grateful smile.
“Good chaos could even be fun,” Skylar put in. “Like getting engaged and planning a wedding. Or renovating your new house—that’s gonna be a huge project.”
I frowned at her. “It doesn’t need that much renovating, not really.”
Skylar’s eyes bugged out. “Natalie. You have a sponge painted dining room. No.”
“And that wallpaper in the guest bedroom is horrible,” Jillian added. “Sorry if I’m meddling.”
“And that ivy stencil in the kitchen.” Skylar shuddered.
“That doesn’t bother me so much. The master bedroom and bathroom are perfect. And I don’t have money to redo everything at once anyway.”
“What about Dan? Shouldn’t he be helping you with these costs? Assuming he ever moves in,” she muttered under her breath.
“He’ll move in, eventually.” I shrugged. “But he has to sell his condo first, and he’d remortgaged it to buy into the marina. Money is tight for him right now. Plus, I kind of like having the place to myself for a while. And I can afford it. I feel good about that.”
Skylar splayed her hand over her chest. “OK, but please let me help you in that kitchen. We’ll strip that paper and paint it. I cannot handle the ivy.”
Jillian laughed. “I’ll help too, when I can. My hours will be so much better than before. Almost human, I think.”
“Good. Then you can sign up for that online dating thing I told you about.” Skylar gave Jillian a smug look before polishing off her burger.
Jillian sighed, picked up her water glass, and put it back down. “Anyone ready for another drink?”
“Yes,” Skylar and I said together. We ordered glasses of wine from Abelard Vineyards, where Skylar worked and was planning to be married, and toasted our successes once more.
“To Skylar, may your wedding be the most beautiful event this town has ever seen,” Jillian said, glass raised.
“To Jilly Bean, may your future patients appreciate how lucky they are to have the best doctor in the world,” I said, clinking my glass to hers.
“To Natalie, may she always open the door of her new house to handsome strangers.” Skylar’s eyes glinted mischievously as she touched her glass to ours. “Sometimes a little chaos is a good thing.”
• • •
A few days later, I was getting ready for work when my phone vibrated on the bathroom vanity. Surprised, I glanced down at it as I finished winding the elastic around my ponytail. It was four in the morning. Who did I know that would even be up at this hour?
Miles Haas calling, read the screen
I blinked.
Miles Haas was awake right now? He’s probably hammered, on his way home from a bar or a party or the bedroom of some girl who thinks he’ll call her tomorrow. I bet he drunk-dialed me by mistake. He’d done that the last time we’d talked, about a year ago, but he hadn’t admitted it until we’d been on the phone for almost an hour. Plus I was running late already, I was short-staffed today, and I had to make muffins for the coffee crowd and get the salads going for lunch. Tourist season was in full swing, and diners had cleaned me out yesterday. I did not have time for an early morning chat with Miles Haas.
Still, I took his call. I always did.
“Hello?”
“You married yet?” The gritty yet playful sound of his voice unlocked twenty years’ worth of memories. Treehouse, mud puddle, sticky cotton candy memories of summers he’d spent at his family’s summer house on Old Mission peninsula, where I grew up.
I smiled. “No.”
“Good. That guy was a douche. He didn’t deserve you.”
“We’re still together, Miles.”
“Still? Jesus. That’s even worse.” Miles and Dan shared an intense mutual dislike for each other, which I’d never fully understood, since there had never been anything romantic between Miles and me.
Well, except for that one night.
The almost night.
“So what’s up? Did you drunk dial me again?” In the mirror, I noticed my cheeks had gone pink.
“I’m perfectly sober, thank you.”
“Then why are you calling me at four in the morning?”
“I’m bored with the girl blowing me.”
“Oh my God.” I squeezed my eyes shut. “Please tell me there is not actually a girl blowing you right now.” It wasn’t totally out of the question—Miles wrote an insanely popular blog called Sex and the Single Guy as well as articles for men’s magazines, pieces with titles like “Should You Bang the Boss’s Daughter? A Flowchart” and “Butt Stuff for Beginners: A Field Guide.” Occasionally he wrote about topics other than sex, but his brand was built on his devil-may-care, hipster playboy approach to life. And that approach included a lot of banging, butt stuff, and blowjobs.
“No, I’m just teasing you.”
“Good.”
“She’s tied up in the basement now.”
“Oh, Jesus.”
“You heading to work?”
I sighed. “Yes. I should be there already.”
“I’m in town.”
“You are?” I turned around and leaned against the vanity. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen Miles in person—maybe two years ago? He’d gone to college and grad school out East somewhere and then moved around a bunch, but he hadn’t come back up here very often. Last time we’d spoken, he was living in Detroit. “To your family’s place?”
“Yeah. You busy later?”
I had to think for a second—today was Thursday, which meant Dan had his tennis league after work and I swam at the gym, but after that we always met up for dinner. We hadn’t really seen much of each other this week. Could I break a standing date—for Miles—without causing tension? “I’m not sure,” I hedged. “What time?”
“Whenever.”
“Let me check on something. I’ll text you this afternoon.”
“Good. I’ll have another round with Svetlana here, and I’ll see you in a few hours.”
“Svetlana?”
“Yeah, she’s Ukrainian, some kind of acrobat. I don’t know what the fuck she’s saying half the time, but goddamn she’s flexible. Maybe I’ll send you a pic.”
“NO.” He’d done that before, and I’d had to quickly delete the pic before Dan discovered it. “Don’t you dare. I’m hanging up.”
I ended the call and quickly finished getting ready for work. On the ten-minute drive to Coffee Darling, the small shop I’d opened downtown three years ago, I reminisced about those us-against-the-world summers when Miles and I had been close. His family’s property bordered my family’s cherry farm, and for as long as I can remember I’d looked forward to those eight weeks we’d have together while his family visited from their home outside Chicago. An only child, he was a year older than me, but about five years less mature, and growing up in a house with only sisters, I’d liked the idea of hanging out with a boy.
And unlike my bookworm sister Jillian or pageant queen Skylar, I’d loved nothing more as a kid than running around outside and getting dirty, climbing trees, swimming in his family’s pool or the bay. As grade schoolers, we’d played pirates or spies or zombies. As pre-teens, we’d had swimming races and fishing contests and went to the county fair together, gorging on sticky carnival food and riding the Zipper or Round Up until we were sick and dizzy. And the weird thing was, as close as we were all those summers, we never talked during the school year. But when he arrived in late June for vacation, it was like we’d never been apart.
Things changed a little the summer after he turned sixteen, when he was suddenly tall and deep-voiced, and his body had acquired the muscular curves and lines of a grown man’s. His face had changed too—it was more angular, stronger in the jaw and cheekbone, fuller at the mouth. Miles is so handsome, isn’t he? my mother would remark. I’d rolled my eyes, because she wasn’t the only female who’d noticed. Miles was suddenly every girl’s crush, a role he relished, hooking up with every pretty girl with a pulse, including a bunch of my friends.
Secretly I agreed with my mother—Miles was handsome, but his ego didn’t need any boosting from me. When we hung out as teenagers, I endured his dirty, juvenile sense of humor and turned up my nose at his flirting, letting him know I was not impressed. Then I fell in love with Dan, which Miles did not understand at all—not only did he think Dan was an ass, but he thought relationships in general were stupid and told me repeatedly that I was missing out on all the fun.
