“I know it’s not your birthday today, but I figured since you’ll be gone for it…” Bethany smiles and shrugs sheepishly. She’s clueless, but sweet, really. In another life—perhaps the one I had pictured for myself as a teenager, I would be the type of woman that accepts her offer of friendship. It’s a pity I’m the me I am, and that she works for a bitch like myself. In another life, under different circumstances, I think she and I could have been great friends. She’s one of those perpetually bubbly, outgoing types. She’s pleasant to be around, even with her tendency to sing like a bird when questioned about nearly any topic.
“Thank you Bethany,” I say conjuring as much sincerity as I can manage. “I appreciate it.” She bobs her head, grinning while I fight the urge to click my ring fingernail back and forth against my thumbnail.
As it turned out, flying first class was a luxury lost on me and my wallet considering no amount of VIP boarding, supple leather seating, and complimentary beverages could have made me relax during my flight from DC to good old Louisiana.
More booze may help, Practicality chimes in as I stand in front of the counter at the car rental desk. Bethany said she rented a midsize sedan on my behalf, but according to the attendant they only have a green hatchback four-cylinder economy car that I fear runs on dashed hopes and dreams booked under my name.
Great. I’ll be rolling around Palmetto Grove in something that resembles a pregnant roller skate in the shade ‘Sinus Infection’.
“It’s a stick shift,” the attendant lifts one over plucked brow in warning. I note her flimsy plastic badge hanging from a lanyard around her neck, displaying her name.
“Of course it is, Patty,” I reply dryly with a stiff smile.
“That gonna be okay, hon?” she asks, surveying me as though she can physically see whether I know how to drive a car with a manual transmission. I haven’t driven a stick shift since I was a teen hopelessly in love and cruising all over town in a cherry red mustang which was the other love of my life back then, second only to him. It’s been a while, but that’s the thing about stuff like this. It’s muscle memory, and picking up where you left off is just a matter of jumping in and doing it.
“I’ll manage,” I declare. “Any other surprises?” I ask with a return lift of my brow. The attendant chuckles, her belly jolting repeatedly as a result.
“Nope. That’s all.” She slaps down folded paperwork and keys in front of me. “Now, if ya want, I could call our other location and see what they have on hand,” she offers.
“Not necessary, but thank you,” I say, plastering on my most diplomatic smile. “This will do fine.”
“Palmetto Grove is what—an hour and some change away? Good thing this sucker gets thirty miles to the gallon,” she says with a nod, clearly not considering the fact that a woman wearing a Givenchy shift dress with coordinating Jimmy Choo heels would not necessarily be the type to give two shits about fuel economy.
“Too true.” I nod absently, sliding the keys and rental agreement off the counter between us. “Thank you, Patty.” I turn on my heel and snag my rolling suitcase ready to locate bay four, lane A, spot sixteen where my roller skate is said to be parked. That’s when a low whistle catches my attention and my stomach plummets to the floor. I swivel my head to my left to see a very familiar face.
“I knew I smelled high class and a ton of sass,” one of my closest friends from high school says with a huge smile on his handsome face and his gray-blue eyes twinkling.
“Chicken Nugget!” I laugh and charge at him at a brisk pace, my heels clicking crispy against the airport floor. He scoops me up roughly and I yelp before his grip around my ribs squeezes the breath out of me.
“I wasn’t sure you’d drag your hoity-toity tail back to piddly old Palmetto,” he laughs into my ear as we hug. His arms around me are familiar but foreign at the same time. They are no longer thin, boyish arms. These strong, filled out, manly arms are a reminder we have all grown up.
“Yeah, well, if I could skip my little sister’s wedding I would but don’t tell anyone,” I whisper conspiratorially.
“Trust me, I don’t have to. Anyone who knows Raegan Potter knows all too well that you want nothing to do with our little town anymore,” he laughs, but I wince at the truth tucked neatly in his lighthearted words. God, this visit is going to drain me, but seeing Chick is high on the brief list of perks.
“Need a ride home?” he asks, and I ignore the hike in my pulse and the squeeze of the knot in my chest at his use of the word home. Home? Is it? No. Not anymore. I mentally maneuver around my private thoughts and jingle my rental keys in front of me.
“And miss out on driving this sweet thang,” I drawl sarcastically. “Not a chance, Chicken Nugget.”
“All right, all right,” he nods, displaying that same grin I’ve seen a million times. The dimple in his left cheek pops out and even though he’s grown a thick beard, his dimple is still there as clear as ever. His face is that a of a man now with fine laugh lines bracketing his eyes and mouth but their presence on his face only adds to his appeal.
“What are you doing here, anyway?” I ask, steering my thoughts away from the boys who I grew up with that turned into very handsome men.
“I just dropped off a friend,” he shrugs. I nod and begin shuffling toward the exit. Chick walks along with me. “We are bowling tonight at eight if you wanna come. Beer’s on me.” My mind reels back over ten years and memories of loud music, musty bowling alley carpet, neon colors and black lights flood in.
“Rock and bowl Thursdays?” I whisper wide-eyed.
“Yep. Still dirt-cheap and a whole lotta fun. You comin’?” The hope in his eyes is hard to snuff out but I can’t handle running into him. Not yet.
“Uh…” I say shifting from one heeled foot to the other. Chick’s smile falters slightly and a look of pity takes its place.
“Sy won’t be there. He’s out-of-town getting ready for this big thing he has coming up,” Chick says quietly. I swallow and force a smile.
“Yeah, I mean I don’t care. Ancient history,” I shrug, feigning indifference. “I’ll see what’s going on at Momma’s house with wedding madness and all of that but if I can sneak away I will.” I promise knowing it is highly unlikely that I will be going anywhere near one of our favorite hangouts during high school. Chick hugs me again and a lump forms in my throat. What the hell is my deal already? If I plan to survive this visit home I had better don my best battle gear and pull myself together. I swallow the lump away and tip my chin to Chick. “See ya, Chicken Nugget.”
“You bet your ass you will,” he grins. “That’s the best part about small towns. Can’t miss people if you tried.”
That’s my fear.
Chick waves off and we part ways with me feeling a little less confident about this visit home than I had hoped to be.
Louisiana’s humid climate and accompanying musty air clings against my skin like my great aunt Gerdy’s metallic pink lipstick. Familiar, expected even, wholly loathsome all the same. I can feel my makeup melting away on my trek through the rental car parking area. I locate my lime green roller skate, toss in my luggage, and roll my eyes as I fold myself into the driver’s seat. Switching the radio station, I try, with great difficulty, to focus my attention on the satellite news station but the minute I hit the highway toward Palmetto my mind drifts back and I’m along for the ride no matter how I resist.