I grew up in an environment where love and care were not freely given, if given at all.
She finishes up our dishes and takes a seat next to me at our brown, well-worn table that has seen its fair share of game nights and tears—mostly from Marcus when he loses Pictionary.
I smile at the memory, then stand to get ready for part one of my mission.
“Look, I need you to call Marcus and convince him to let me in so I can grab it. Kane taught me how to replace them. I’ll be in and out in minutes, but if I show up with just my key, he’ll be suspicious. I told him last week it’ll take another threat like the giant bee apocalypse of 2022 to get me back there.”
I shudder at the memory of when not one, but two large beehives took up residence in our attic, slowly leading ourlittle old cottage to a full-blown infestation. Morgan and I called Kane and Marcus with tears in our eyes, incoherently babbling to them, which then led to them showing up with bats, ready to jump into whatever was threatening us. After they finished going through the house, Kane took over calling an exterminator and going back inside for my things since I refused to step foot back in the cottage while those little demons were present. Three weeks later, we were finally able to move back in.
It’s a day that will forever live in infamy.
“No,”Marcus says before I even finish my sentence.
I stand outside the townhouse he and Kane have rented since freshman year. The pale blue exterior shines against the white door, the sun beating down on me. The sadness of being here after so much time away starts to cloud my thoughts.
I’ve seen many things here in the past few years—the parties that inevitably ended in disaster, Marcus’s revolving door of girls, Kane and I growing through the years and the family get-togethers we used to have weekly when life started to get busier for everyone.
“Marcus, I need you. This is your time to shine. Your chance to run a covert mission like those video games you’re always playing,” I say sweetly, trying to butter up my oldest friend, now turned into my biggest obstacle. He’s still blocking my entrance into phase one of my master plan I’ve dubbedMake Kane Eat Shit. It’s a working title, but I think it has a nice ring to it.
“Or you could just talk to him. You know, communicate.We learned how to do that in Mrs. Meyers’ first grade class.” He shoots me a look that says I’ve lost my mind, his vivid green eyes imploring me to see reason as he places both hands on top of the doorframe, using all six-foot-three of his height to bodyguard the apartment.
“Please, you know the only thing we learned in Mrs. Meyers’ class is that she’s been cheating on her husband since 2002,” I reply with sass, my hand going to my jutted hip, the irritation simmering that this plan isn’t as foolproof as I’d hoped. “And pull your shirt down, Marcus Allen White. Those abs don’t work on me,” I add indignantly. Marcus has always been a ladies’ man, complete with the stereotypical fear of commitment.
I quickly hit him in his lower abdomen, and his arms drop to block himself from other potential assaults. He stammers enough that I’m able to slip past him into their place for the first time in forty-six days.
Not that I’m counting.
I steel my spine and walk to the corner where Kane keeps his old guitar—next to his well-loved record player and the extensive vinyl collection he’s been building for years. A shiny blue record I don’t recognize is laying on the turntable, recently listened to.
What else have I missed?
I tear my attention from the vinyl, my eyes landing on the guitar that has played me every song I’ve ever shown an interest in since senior year of high school. It rests on its stand, the light brown wood still gleaming even after all these years.
The rest of the apartment looks exactly the same too. Looking from the kitchen to the living room, I expect to find things that have changed in my absence, but nothinghas. The dark green pillows we bought together still rest on the couch, and some of my romance books are stacked haphazardly on the bookshelves lining the sides of the TV. A mess of paper sits on the kitchen table, suggesting that Kane was working late and likely fell asleep before finishing, just like always.
I even spot the photo of us from the time I forced him to get on a ferris wheel down in California, tucked beside his “reading” glasses on the side table. He really needs them all the time, but he will never admit to being nearsighted.
I contemplate asking Marcus to remind him to wear them…but that’s not my problem anymore. Tears start to well in my eyes. This place has always welcomed me and warmed me from the moment I’ve crossed this threshold, but I feel like an outsider now.
Iaman outsider now.
I force my thoughts in another direction, reminding myself about Kane leading the blonde back to a private table at The Grunge and doing my best to ignore the lingering feeling of homesickness.
“Look, it’s not that I’m not on your side?—”
I whip my gaze to Marcus, my eyes narrowing at what might come out of his mouth next. He raises his hands in surrender where he’s still perched near the door, as if I’m a live bomb ready to go off.
I just might, so I’m glad he’s on alert.
“I’m just saying, is this really the best way to get his attention?” Marcus finishes, still standing away from me, like I might reach up and smack him at any moment.
“No, what I think is that he shouldn’t be parading his new girlfriend around the bar he knows we all go to. He could have taken her anywhere, and he choseourbar,Marcus!” I shout, reaching a volume that will probably have Mr. Wright calling in a noise complaint any minute.
The neighbor in the other half of the townhouse is known for being a little crazy. One minute he’s throwing a raging party for the local retirement home, the next he’s whining about noise in the middle of the afternoon on a Tuesday. How Marcus and Kane have lasted this long in this duplex when both could afford much nicer, I’ll never know.
“Whoa, what do you—” Marcus starts, his brow furrowing and a slight frown forming across his olive skin.
“Enough,” I demand, turning my back to him and resuming my mission. “Either help me, or forget that I was here, Marcus,” I plead as I try to keep the tremble out of my voice. He catches it anyways, his eyes softening around the corners.
