Page 93 of Blue Jeans in Low Beams

Mell and I both look up, watching as Alice Evans, owner of Oh, My Lard!, the town bakery, and one of Dolly’s best friends, breezes in, making her way straight to the back. She doesn’t bother to stop and say hi to anyone, clearly on a mission, and for a split second, I wonder what it is. Then, I stop myself. I will not let myself get caught up in any of that. Not my business.

“Speaking of your parents…” Mell says, bringing me back to our conversation.

“We weren’t talking about my parents.”

“Sure we were. We were talking about mine, so ipso facto we were talking about yours.”

“Okay…”

I have no idea where she’s going with this, but I take a long sip of my coffee, trying to buy myself some time.

“Do they know about Milo?”

“He’s been Brandt’s best friend since they were three, and Dad is the head of payroll at Hayes, so I’m pretty sure they are aware of Milo’s presence at this point,” I quip.

“But do they know you’re fucking him?”

I lurch forward, the hot coffee slamming to a halt in my throat, causing me to choke. I should have known better than to take a sip. Should have known where she was taking this. But no, I trusted that she was going to behave. Twenty-plus years of friendship should have taught me better, and yet, here we are.

Mell arches an eyebrow, looking very proud of herself, despite my almost requirement of the Heimlich. The little look tells me that I’m not getting out of answering this.

“Such specifics have not been discussed, no,” I sass, still trying to catch my breath.

“But they know, right?” she asks again. This time, her tone is softer, more serious. It’s an actual question, rather than just best friend banter.

I lift a shoulder, not really sure of the answer. “I guess? The four of us had dinner the other night, and nothing was said, but…it felt implied? And let’s not lie to ourselves. We haven’t been entirely discreet, and Hickory Hills is what it is, so I’m sure the underground network has gone wild with stories. Mrs. Chamberlain was in the drugstore interrogating Milo like he was on the witness stand. I’m sure my parents have put together that there’s something between us. For all I know, it was one of them who sent the photo to Brandt.”

“Something still undefined.”

Mine…

Milo’s words echo in my head, so clear he might as well be sitting next to me saying them. My heart squeezes and my insides go fuzzy with each repetition, the gentle reminder meaning more and more each time. Because I know he meant it. The same way you know when it’s going to rain. You just do.

Which is also why I’m not pushing for a definition. Maybe that makes me naïve. But I know the realness of it, even without a name.

“Says the girl who was ‘just friends’ with some guy and then all of a sudden had a ring on her hand.”

I throw her a knowing look, staring her down for a long moment. She has the good sense to look semi-embarrassed, her own words coming back to bite her. Mell had met Jon during our spring break trip junior year and was smitten the second she saw him. Not that she admitted to it. She insisted they were “just friends,” despite being glued to her phone, texting him whenever possible, ditching me the second he would show up while on leave. Six months later there was a ring on her finger, and they were married two weeks after graduation.

They are perfect for each other, and I love seeing her happy. However, she has no room to talk here.

“Has Brandt said anything else since he asked about the photo?” Mell continues, ignoring my point.

“Not to me.”

“What about Milo? Has he told his best friend what’s really going on?”

I swallow hard. Now that’s one question I can’t answer.

Because I have no fucking idea.

“I…I don’t think so.”

“Oh, I wish I was going to be here for that,” Mell laughs, sitting back in the booth. “Can you record that and send it to me?”

“What? No! Why would I do that? Brandt’s going to be cool with it.”

I think…