“I think that’s supposed to be my line,” Marcus retorts, winking at her. Grayson sends a dazzling smile my way and gives Morgan a quick hug before taking his seat. He sits there silently, ignoring the antics, his dirty blonde hair pushed back behind a ball cap and his team jersey still on, suggesting he came from batting practice. His first year on the B team is finally underway now that spring is here, and it’s nice to see Grayson again since practice has taken up most of his time.
We abandon our previous conversation in favor of Marcus explaining his most recent run-in with his and Kane’s upstairs landlord’s newest fling of the week—someone who, at eighty-one, surprisingly gets more action than all of us put together—and I glance around, wondering if Kane is still here.
I look over at Marcus and Grayson and almost ask about Kane, but I’m not sure I’m ready to know the answer. Every song and sound of utensils clinking sends my already overwhelmed brain into a frenzy, and I realize I’m no longer in the headspace for being out. My mood has shifted, and I need the quiet darkness of my room to wrap around me like a warm blanket.
There are protests as I make my excuses, but I say my goodbyes, call an Uber and head outside to wait.
When I push through the front doors, a burst of cool air instantly sobers me up.
The weather has broken just enough this week to get us some relief from the relentless cold we’ve been having,announcing a change of the seasons is on its way in the south. I’ve lived in this small Tennessee town of Cherry Hill all my life—spring is always unpredictable, and with the sun setting below the horizon, a slight chill fills the air.
My new skirt and Doc Martens aren’t helping matters, and it has me wishing I had added those new stockings that I picked up on Morgan’s and my most recent shopping trip.
I check my phone to see where my Uber is, my finger hovering over the generic background I changed it to after the breakup, when a black SUV pulls up in front of me. The driver rolls down the window to confirm my name, and I quickly lock my phone and get inside.
I stare out the window as the lights blur past, lost in my head like I have been all night. Before I realize it, we’re pulling up to my rented cottage and I get out with a quick, “Thanks,” to the driver.
I don’t bother to turn any lights on as I get ready for bed. Once I’m under the covers, I pull them up over my head and finally let out the tears I refused to let fall earlier.
CHAPTER TWO
avery
imgonnagetyouback – Taylor Swift
“Okay babe, I knew you were mentally unstable, but this has me ready to get your therapist’s number ready to dial. What would Susan say, Avery?” Morgan asks, reaching for my phone.
I swipe it from its resting spot next to my laptop before she can grab it. I’m hunkered down at the kitchen table where I started my covert plan a few minutes ago. I’m googling numerous music stores around me—yes, plural, because once I’m committed to something, I will not do it half-assed—and find the numbers for the ones Kane is most likely to call. One good thing about spending the last couple of years with someone, you know how they think, even though I do wish I could forget sometimes.
“Oh please. Ifthisis the biggest sign that I’m not mentally stable that’s occurred in the past twenty-three years of my life, that’s just sad. I need to step it up,” I tease. “And Susan doesn’t get my humor. I told three self-deprecating jokes last session, and she didn’t even crack a smile.” Ihold the phone out of her reach while searching the store’s website for their contact information.
Why do some businesses make that impossible?
“Well babe, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t think your therapist is supposed to laugh at you,” Morgan says, placing her hands on her hips. Her curly blonde hair is in a somehow chic messy bun even though she just rolled out of bed.
“I just can’t have a therapist who doesn’t get me. The vibes were off. Aha!” I shout when I finally find the right number to talk to a store associate. I’m so sick of having to yell at an automated machine just talk to a human.
I hold the phone up to my ear while it rings as I sit at our kitchen table in our dimly lit cottage. I was awake tossing and turning all night letting this idea simmer when the first prank struck me.
The morning sun is streaming through the front windows, another sunny day shining down on us. The spring is hitting us earlier than usual, a welcome reprieve from the seasonal depression that has clung to my skin. I realize that I probably could benefit from some vitamin D today and not lock myself in my room before I go to the shelter later.
“Thank you for calling Music and More, my name is Jess. How can I help you?” a chipper voice says from the other end of the line.
“Yes, hello, I need to purchase all your G strings for a Martin acoustic guitar,” I say proudly while Morgan snickers behind me. I throw a middle finger up at her, staying in character.
Morgan continues laughing, now fully on board with my potential disastrous plan that came to me overnight.
“Uh sure, we have five on hand and two of the phosphor bronze strings coming in the next week.”
I can hear the clicking of a keyboard in the background, along with a low male voice I can’t quite make out.
“Perfect. I’ll be by soon. Can you put it under, uh… Anne?”
When I hang up, I turn to Morgan with a huge, and slightly manic smile on my face.
“Oh, she’s lost the plot for sure,” Morgan whispers to herself as if I’m not sitting one foot from where she’s washing the dishes, always taking care of me. My heart warms at that thought.
As someone who basically raised herself, with a mother who made time for everyone but me, it’s nice to have someone around to help out with the small things. Someone who sees that you need help and just steps in because she knows I won’t ask for it.
