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You know…like how you hate everything they think is great and wish they’d find something else to do with their time than bug you about relationships and shit.I turn around again, desperate to block him out as my sister blathers on. Unlike Luke, Em is easily convinced by my act and dives into the next order of business—Kate’s bachelorette party. She gives me the lowdown on the night’s plans—dinner, drinks, dancing, no strippers—and I’m listening, even chiming in at times with suggestions.
Luke finally gives up and heads back for his apartment, the front door to my place closing with a thunk behind him.
He’s not actually angry or anything—I know, because we’ve been doing this same dance for the last fifteen years of our friendship, and he hasn’t gotten fed up with me yet.
Still hoping for a distraction in the form of the USPS, I pick up a thick envelope that has a Vermont return address of someone by the name of Callie Camden-Baccus. The name takes almost a full second to register, but when it does…my eyes damn near pop out of my head and tumble onto the counter.
Callie Camden-Baccus? As in high school, cheer-demon, soul-torturing, mean-girl Callie?
What in the hell and tarnation is she doing sending me something? And how in the actual f-word did she get my New York address?
Curiosity officially piqued, I open the envelope and pull out a thick, fancy invitation.You’re Invited!
Lakewood High’s Fifteen-Year Reunion
December 26th, 7:30 p.m.Ha! There’s no way I’ll be attending my high school reunion. I’d rather have all of my teeth removed and sport dentures for the rest of my life than sit through that event. Sure, I’m still friends with some select people from high school, but I don’t need to go to my reunion to catch up with them. And I don’t need to catch up with Callie freaking Camden—period.
I rip up the outer envelope and scoop the entire contents in both hands, propping the phone between my shoulder and my ear and head for the trash. I step on the pedal to lift the lid, poised to let her rip, but a small piece of paper falls out of the bottom of the stack and flutters to the floor. Brow furrowed, I unfold the fancy, flower-embossed stationery and read the note.Ava,
I am so excited that you’re going to help plan the big reunion!
Call me so we can figure out all of the details! (555-143-6789)
Can’t wait to see you in December!
XOXO, CallieCar tires and records screech, and a gap opens up in the space-time continuum. What in the sweet baby Jesus in a manger did I just read?
Help plan the reunion? Me?
No no no no no no. I don’t think so.
Where in the hell did she get the idea that I would?
“Hello?” Em’s voice fills my ear. “You still there, Ava?”
“Shit. Sorry.” I shake my head to pull myself out of my spiral into the world’s worst nightmare. “I just…uh…I got this really weird invitation in the mail, and I’m…confused.”
“What invitation?”
“To my fifteen-year high school reunion.”
“Oh yeah, I think I heard Mom talking about that the other day. I—”
“Hold the phone.” I cut her off before she can continue, my spidey senses officially engaged. “How does Mom know about this?
“I think she ran into someone you went to high school with or something,” she answers. “Why?”
Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…
“Em, I gotta go,” I say and don’t waste any time ending the call and dialing another—more pressing—number. No offense to my sister, but I have a serious bone to pick with our mother, and justified homicide is the kind of scheduled event that really can’t wait.
I tap my fancy-booted toe and grind my teeth while the phone rings, and when she doesn’t answer her cell, I give my parents’ house phone a try.
Fifteen seconds later, my mom’s voice fills my ears.
“Hey, honey! Did you change your mind about the cute lawyer? I have his num—”
No time for pleasantries about the usual auctioning off of my flesh, I stop her before she can even get started. “Why did I get an invitation in the mail to my high school reunion? And why does it seem like someone has volunteered me to help plan it?”
“A high school reunion? How fun! I never went to any of my reunions, you know. I was too busy raising you girls—” I know instantly by the way she’s hem-hawing around, she’s the culprit.
“Mom,” I interrupt. “Why on earth would you say I would help plan this thing?”
“Who is that, Rose?” Aunt Poppy’s voice chimes in from the background.
“Shh,” my mom hushes her and clears a nervous titter from her throat. “Ava, honey, I ran into Callie not too long ago, and she seemed so excited to catch up with you. I know you’re busy down there in New York, but I also know you’re going to be up here for your sister’s wedding and—”
